


speak in tongues

by banksoflochlomond



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Fuck JK Rowling, Full Moon, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Hogwarts, M/M, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Oh also, Remus Has the Sight, Sirens, also!!, bitch you think I could kill Lily Potter?, it'll be canon up until the war and then changes WILL be made, the weirdest fusion I will ever write of canon and non-canon things, v v important for later, well kinda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banksoflochlomond/pseuds/banksoflochlomond
Summary: "Oh, come on," Sirius says, shaking his hair out indignantly. "What other kind of person is affected by the full moon? And you can't tell us you're not, your absences always line up perfectly with the moon cycle. It's all right Remus, just tell us the truth.""I'm not a werewolf," Remus repeats, this time as a whisper. His friends have to lean in to hear him correctly. "There're more than just werewolves that are affected by the moon.""So you're something, then? Just not a werewolf?" Peter pipes up, and Remus realizes his mistake. He buries his head in his hands and tries desperately not to make eye contact with his friends.He's an idiot, and his mum was going to kill him for this.(Remus is a Siren, instead of a werewolf, when he comes to Hogwarts. This changes both very little and absolutely everything about the Marauders' story throughout Hogwarts and even beyond it.)
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Remus Lupin & Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 28
Kudos: 110





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> sup!!
> 
> I really shouldn't be starting a new project like this.
> 
> but I am. Because I'm dumb.
> 
> Feel like it should go without saying, but JK Rowling is so wrong and if any one of you agrees with her, you can suck my dick and also never come back here again.
> 
> Anyway here's a story that's probably influenced more by H20 Just Add Water than I'll ever want to admit. But also, I can't believe I'm the first person to do this?
> 
> Unless I'm not and I missed the memo.
> 
> anyway enjoy

It goes like this:

Fenrir Greyback breaks into Remus Lupin’s bedroom. Remus screams, but by the time Lyall and Hope can get to him, Greyback has already sunk his teeth into Remus’s shoulder. 

Lyall tries to stun him, tries to get him away from Remus, but he escapes out the window before any of the spells reach him. Greyback, for all intents and purposes, believes he has acquired another part of his pack. He howls in pride as he clambers out the open window, quite satisfied as Hope sobs over her baby and the bloody teeth marks torn into his skin.

Fifteen hours later and two counties over, Greyback is found dead atop a rotted log in Epping Forest (that may or may not have served as his shelter during the springtime). He is dead of a poison that the Ministry of Magic has never encountered before. His teeth are blue and green-spotted, his veins bulge prominently against his fatty, sallow skin. It seems that the poison fully took hold mid-transition; patches of Greyback’s stomach and lower back are still covered in the thick, knotted fur of his wolf form, and his odd-colored teeth are canine-shaped, forcing his slack mouth into a kind of sneer as the lips pull back to accommodate the extra-long incisors.

The teeth also crumble like sand when prodded with the mortician’s sharp metal tools. Completely baffled, the mortician consults his colleagues, and even the Hogwarts Potions professor (despite his intense dislike of Slughorn’s wormy, slimy demeanor). Eventually, they rule it as a heretofore unencountered poison, and freeze his body for further examination.

The death of Greyback obviously gets a front-page write up in  _ the Daily Prophet  _ a few days later when it's made public . Lyall hears about it at work, first--his continual rage against werewolves was well-known, and his assistant even jokes about baking him a cake for the occasion. Lyall smiles quietly, if not a bit viciously, and requests a copy of the newspaper to bring home--his wife thinks that the  _ Prophet _ was little more than a gossip rag, so he’d canceled their subscription a few years ago. Still, she’ll want to hear the news.

Lyall finds Hope in the kitchen with Remus, when he gets home. She’s cooking something with a lot of salt, so much it makes Lyall scrunch up his nose. She swears it’s medicinal, and will help Remus recover faster. Not that he’ll need much help--the last time Lyall saw Hope change the bandages on his shoulder and chest, Remus had almost fully healed over, with pinkish scars raking over his skin (Greyback had scratched and clawed at him, in addition to the bite--if Greyback weren’t already dead, Lyall would have strangled him with his bare hands). 

Lyall had told her that they would likely fade to silver, but never go away. Hope seems to be fighting against that sort of notion, but then again, she’d never encountered dark magic in the ways that Lyall had during his days at the Ministry.

“Brought home some good news,” Lyall says, setting down his briefcase. He pulls out  _ the Daily Prophet _ from under his arm, unfolds it, and points at the headline: GREYBACK FOUND DEAD OF MYSTERIOUS ILLNESS. He says to Remus, “Looks like you did good, buddy.”

“I didn’t even do anything,” Remus protests, but he still smiles wide, and Lyall is overcome with the intense need to hold him tight again. He’s had that sort of inclination since the attack--if Remus hadn’t been who he was, then everything could’ve gone much worse, and Lyall still hates seeing the wraps around Remus’s shoulder. He’d failed to protect his son, and if anyone ever heard about Greyback’s attack, or his whereabouts before he died....

Well, they wouldn’t. Lyall and Hope would be much more careful, from now on.

And so Lyall just gathers his son up into his arms, and says, “He should’ve known better than to mess with you, my dear. It’s his fault entirely, and I’m still proud of you, you understand?”

Remus giggles against his father’s embrace, and Lyall hugs him tighter.

Yes, they’d be _much_ more careful.


	2. BEFORE: Dumbledore's Visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen Lyall Lupin gets such a bad rap i feel like he's an okay dad
> 
> so does dumbledore too, and for good fuckin reason, but the man's complex. let him suck and be complex, don't just choose one or the other.
> 
> also fuck jk rowling

Albus knows where he’s going when he apparates, but he’s still a bit surprised when he lands.

Although he hasn’t spoken to Lyall Lupin for many years, he remembers the bright, sometimes vicious-tongued young man from Hogwarts, as well as the respected, strong headed Ministry worker that Lyall had grown into. He'd departed the Ministry quite suddenly seven years ago, none of his former colleagues could offer a tangible reason as to why he’d tendered his resignation to this day. 

“Just said he wanted a change of scenery,” his former secretary had offered up when asked. “‘S a shame--he was a looker. Oh, not to speak of trivial things, Professor Dumbledore, sir.”

Albus had stroked his beard, played with the half-moon spectacles on his face, and offered her a candied orange for her trouble. 

It was all a very curious business indeed. The whip-smart Ravenclaw that Lyall had been, as well as the driven and determined Ministry worker he’d formed himself into, would never simply _give up_ that lifestyle. 

He’d been enjoying himself, the last time Albus and he had crossed paths--around 1961 or so, from Albus’s recollection. He distinctly remembered asking about Lyall’s job, and Lyall saying proudly and not without a bit of a blush: “Well, magical creatures sometimes aren’t creatures at all. Intriguing, how magic can manifest in so many different ways, isn’t it?”

No, his sudden retirement made no sense at all. And the shack that sits in front of him doesn’t offer much insight into Lyall Lupin’s decision, either.

The shack is clearly well-loved (which, of course a term that was the more kind-hearted version of “shabby"). Perhaps the more preferable term was “bungalow,” but one could be forgiven the mistake of referring to it as a shack--the harsh sea salt wind had slashed at old paint, wearing it away until it was only made of creaking, uneven wooden boards that were half sunken into the rocky silt that Southwestern England tried to pass off as actual sand.

Part of the roof is scraped free of shingles and half-covered with a bright blue tarp. The lopsided front porch is loaded down with all manner of wind chimes and dream catchers which chatter pleasantly in the continual wind blowing from the choppy grey sea that they face.

Albus shakes his head. This was not a home meant for Lyall Lupin at all.

But concern for his old Transfiguration pupil was not why he’d come; instead, it was the letter in the front pocket of his robes. It’s written on a scrap piece of lined Muggle notebook paper, in hurried penmanship. It’s a response to Lyall’s son’s invitation to Hogwarts, and it simply said: _Thank you so much for this opportunity, Albus, but I am afraid Remus will have to decline. I hope it’s a good school year, and that you’re doing well._

It had not offered a reason _why_ Remus would be declining.

That’s why Albus had decided on an in-house visit. No reason at all was odd; especially for a man like Lyall, who used to pride himself on numerous citations in his Transfiguration essay, and would often write several inches more than what was required.

Albus could not insist on Remus Lupin attending Hogwarts, but he could very well find out why.

So Albus straightens out his robes and makes his way towards the front door, easily dismantling the protection charms around the seaside shack. They had grown thin and weary with age, anyway; Lyall would likely appreciate the reminder to recast his charms, and Albus meant no harm at all.

Not unless there was dark, harmful magic involved.

***

Remus is paging through a paperback novel when the kettle on the counter starts shrieking.

It isn’t on the Muggle hob that his mother so loved, and isn’t even filled with water, as far as Remus is aware. Bright flashing red sparks are spitting out the end of the spout as well, which likely means trouble.

“Dad?” Remus calls, maneuvering his feet from across the arm of his armchair to the ground. His dad has already heard the noise, and pops out of the old pantry that they’d fashioned into a sort-of office; when he spots the kettle spout, his face goes white.

“Remus,” he says, “get to your bedroom and lock yourself in. Now.”

Remus blinks and sets his book down. “But--”

“Remus,” his dad says sharply. “It could be dangerous.”

“Won’t you need help then?”

“Don’t make me tell your mother about this,” his dad says, and that’s enough of a threat that Remus snatches up his book and runs to his bedroom, turning the old, rusted lock on the door until the gears shudder into place.

Then he grabs an empty water glass from his nightstand and presses it against the door. It’s a thin, plywood door, hardly soundproof by anyone’s definition, but Remus believes that the glass helps him hear secret conversations clearer anyway.

“--umbledore,” his dad is saying. He steps back, and a heavy set of feet creak into their seaside cabin. “I wasn’t expecting a visit from my old professor, or else I’d probably have, ah...dressed up a little more.”

Remus covers a grin with his mouth, suddenly remembering his dad’s tartan pajama bottoms and old, holey sweatshirt. His dad worked from home a lot, usually doing outsourced research on curse-breaking and the like. Remus remembers a time when he was very small when his dad used to come home in professional purple robes and sweep Remus up into his arms. Now, he mostly drinks loads of coffee, watches Remus and Hope play in the sea, and alternatively reads for work and for pleasure.

His dad claims he’s happier than he ever was. Remus sometimes wonders about that.

“Forgive me for the impromptu visit, Lyall,” another voice says. It sounds weathered with age, a bit gravelly, but pleasant all the same. There’s the sound of someone sitting down in their plump, pastel pink armchair (his dad had abhorred it, but bought it anyway when he’d seen the look in his wife’s eyes), and the man says, “would you like some candy, Lyall?”

Remus’s dad huffs out a breath. “Forgot about your sweet tooth, Headmaster,” he says.

“With so much roughness in the world, I always appreciate a bit of sweetness,” the man says. “Now, about that note I received, in regards to young Remus’s invitation to Hogwarts…”

Remus rears back a little at that. He remembers the post that he’d gotten, just a few days after his birthday. It had been written in bright green ink, addressed oddly, in the way Remus knew only wizards wrote: _To Remus Lupin, Second Bedroom on the Right, Seaside Cottage at Cornwall, Southwestern England._

He’d thought that the address itself was brilliant, and admired it for a while before his dad had said quietly, “Don’t you want to open it? That’s your Hogwarts letter, son.”

Remus had blinked, and swivelled his eyes between his dad and mum. “But I thought...I thought I couldn’t go.”

His dad had bit his lip, and seemed to exchange a series of looks with his mum. “I suppose,” he’d said, at length. “Your mum believes your magic may be a bit too--strong, for the likes of other wizards. But if you want to open the letter anyway, we could maybe get you some of the books they’re using now, and I could tutor you a bit, yeah?”

Remus had thrown the letter down next to his porridge, and folded his arms. “If I can’t go, I’d rather not read about everything I’m missing out on,” he’d said stubbornly. Absurdly, he’d felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and he’d ducked his head quickly, wiping them away with a closed fist.

His mother had reached across the breakfast table and wrapped a hand around his wrist, rubbing her thumb over his pulse point. “I am sorry, darling,” she’d said quietly. “But you have to understand, we don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

Remus had taken in a shaking breath. Because he _did_ understand, at least to a certain extent. His mother might be immune, and his father a practiced and accomplished Occlumens, but the kids his age didn’t have that sort of power or talent. And as soon a full moon came, while Remus was at Hogwarts...

“Yeah,” he’d said, and carefully twisted his wrist out of his mum’s grasp. He’d then grabbed his spoon and stirred his porridge around, mostly so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact with his parents.

His dad had sighed and picked up the letter, getting up from the table. He’d started heading out of their little kitchenette, when Remus had looked up and said, “Dad, could you--I mean. I like the idea about tutoring. I’m sorry.”

His dad had smiled, but it was tight. Remus had gotten the impression that his dad was just as disappointed as Remus, but it hadn’t done much to assuage Remus’s roiling feelings. “Of course, Remus,” he’d said. “I just have to let the Hogwarts headmaster know that you’ll be declining the invitation.”

Remus had averted his eyes again at that, biting at the inside of his cheek.

His mum had cut in then, saying, “How do you feel about going for a swim with me after breakfast, Remus?”

Remus had looked up at his mum, then. Her eyes were always shifting colors, one of the features he loved most about her; today, they seemed a kaleidoscope between gray and green, just like the sea.

Despite himself, Remus had grinned. “We always go for a swim after breakfast, mum.”

“Ah, yes,” his mum had said, and then leaned in close, her eyes a twinkling blue-sea green combo. Her hair fell over her shoulder, a lovely shade of honey brown. “But I’ll even sing for you, this time.”

Remus had blinked and said _yes,_ immediately, and wolfed down his breakfast afterward. By the time he’d made it out of the door and down to the shore, Remus had quite forgotten about Hogwarts, and being forced to refuse it.

***

Until now, of course.

This strange man was in their living room, and was the _headmaster_ at _Hogwarts._ Remus should’ve put it together sooner, but really--he hadn’t expected his refusal to be such a big deal.

Neither had Remus’s dad, clearly, because as soon as the man inquires about Remus, his dad says, voice a bit strained, “Well, Remus...ah, he gets sick, quite often. Part of his genetics I’m afraid, and with his mum struggling with the same thing, we. Ah. Felt that it was better if Remus stayed home.”

“Do you mind if I ask what this disease is?” the man asks calmly. Although Remus can’t see his father, he imagines that he stiffened at the question. His dad had always been a poor liar.

“I...I’d rather not divulge it,” his dad says carefully.

“Because,” the man continues, “I couldn’t help but notice that you’d resigned from the Ministry after Fenrir Greyback’s mysterious demise. Your former colleagues described it as peculiar, considering how dedicated you were to your job. I seem to remember you having a passion for the study of magical creatures, even in your Hogwarts days.”

Remus’s hand grazes over his left shoulder and rubs it a bit at the mention of Greyback. The scars still stand out against his skin, the silvery and taut tissue contrasting against the rest of his skin. He hardly remembers it, but he knows that it was the impetus to move their family out to the coast, miles and miles away from anyone. It had pushed them into hiding, sort of--his mother certainly doesn’t view it that way, having been blessed with the entire seaside instead of the large duck pond near their old cottage, but still. Sometimes Remus wonders about what would’ve happened, if he hadn’t been who he was. If his mother hadn’t been who _she_ was.

“Dumbledore--Headmaster Dumbledore, sir…” A pause. Remus pictures his dad reaching for his reading glasses, usually perched on the end table next to their couch, and polishing them with the hem of his sweatshirt. “I do hope you’re not...accusing my family or my son of anything.”

“No accusation at all,” the man, Dumbledore, says smoothly. “As far as I’m concerned, Remus is a boy. An innocent. I’m merely making some observations. And if these observations happened to be true...well, it’s no reason to bar young Remus from getting an education.”

“I…” his dad pauses, obviously casting about for something to say. Remus holds his breath. It was an unexpected turn, to be sure, but if the headmaster was willing to let a _werewolf_ come to school, then maybe--just maybe--there could also be a place for Remus?

“I appreciate your open-mindedness,” his dad eventually settles on. “I’d forgotten how...trustworthy, and how kind you were, Dumbledore, sir.”

“Just Dumbledore is quite all right, Lyall,” Dumbledore says. “If you’re comfortable, please call me Albus, actually.”

“Ah--yes. Well,” his dad says. “With all that in mind...I know you are also a discreet man. I would have to inform you, then, that Remus isn’t affected by lycanthropy--though not through lack of trying, on Greyback’s part.”

There’s a pause. The armchair squeaks, as Dumbledore shifts forward. “Then what, pray tell, is the issue?”

This time, the couch groans, as his dad readjusts himself nervously. “Perhaps it’s better shown, rather than described,” he finally settles on. Then, in a louder tone: “Remus! Come out here, please. I know you’ve been listening!”

Remus takes a deep breath, and sets his water glass on the ground. He tries to ignore the panging of his heart--except, he was going to meet the _headmaster_ of _Hogwarts._ Remus gets to his feet, and brushes himself down very quickly. His corduroy pants are wrinkled, but they always are. No crumbs on his loose, button-down shirt, from what he can tell.

Remus takes another deep breath, and opens his bedroom door.

***

The boy is rather small and thin for his age, but Lyall had been as well, if Albus’s memory serves him (and it always does). His face is rather scrunched up, but Albus is willing to bet that it’s from nerves rather than a natural proclivity for that sort of expression.

Albus withdraws his tin of sweets from his robes, and says with a wink, “Would you like a candied orange? Or perhaps a sherbet lemon? I’ve actually got all sorts--those are just my favorites.”

The boy stares at him for a second, and then nods slowly, reaching into the tin to withdraw a piece of hard cinnamon candy. He considers it for a second and then pops it into his mouth. He looks back up at Albus and smiles quietly, his face relaxing into much milder features, just as Albus had suspected.

“Thank you,” he says, and then goes to sit by his father on the threadbare couch. Lyall immediately shifts forward as the boy sits down, as if he were trying to stop Albus from inspecting his son too much. Very curious indeed, especially if Lyall’s claims that Remus was unaffected by lycanthropy are true (and Albus very much believes they are, even if he can’t get a good read on Lyall’s mind).

“Well, I do have to say I’m curious where this will go,” Albus says, snapping his tin of sweets shut again and setting it back into his pocket. “It’s not often I am surprised by a conversation’s direction, but I have to say I am unsure where we’re headed, Lyall.”

Lyall nods, and the boy shifts, drawing his legs up and into a cross-legged position. He taps a forefinger restlessly against the knee of his trousers, as Lyall seems to pull his thoughts together.

Finally, Lyall says, “I am certain that the rumors of you being a Legilimens are correct.”

Albus cocks an eyebrow. Remus sits up, his eyes widening. He knows he’d had the boy’s attention before, but now it seems as if Remus is thoroughly engaged. “I never tried to deny them,” Albus says.

“Yes,” Lyall says, “Of course. I’m sure, then, that you’ve no doubt noticed that I’ve practiced Occlumency since we last met.”

“I was aware that you were working on mental shields the last time,” Albus clarifies, “but I am satisfied to see that they’re now fully in place. You’ve always been a talented wizard, Lyall.”

Lyall bites back a smile at that, and Albus risks a glance at Remus. “I’m right in assuming this conversational direction has a purpose.”

“Of course,” Lyall says, and then takes a deep breath. “As I said, a demonstration might be, ah--most convincing. I myself wasn’t convinced for a long time.” He then clears his throat, and claps his hands together nervously. 

“Remus?” he asks.

“Yeah, dad,” the boy says automatically, attention switching from Albus to his father. Albus watches the transition carefully, and is pleased at the result: instead of withering from his dad’s stare, he matches it, eyes wide and back straight. Albus had been a bit wary of Lyall, if he's honest with himself; barring a young wizard from an education felt...unnecessarily cruel, in nature. But the boy clearly has a healthy relationship with his father all the same.

“Could you maybe--tell Professor Dumbledore here a command?” he asks. The boy’s eyes widen, and he uncrosses his legs, feet hitting the floor. “Nothing too extreme, of course, just to give him a picture.”

Lyall then turns to Albus and says, “I know you have mental shields, Headmaster. For the sake of this experiment, I’d ask you to drop them, just for a moment.”

Albus frowns a bit at this, but nods his compliance. 

“Dad, are you sure…?” the boy glances at Albus, and then immediately averts his eyes. 

“You’ll be fine, just don’t say anything cruel or unusual,” Lyall coaches. “And I know you’d never. Professor Dumbledore needs to see to understand.”

“...All right,” Remus says. He then turns to Albus, eyes still cast downward, and says, “Are you ready, sir?”

“Yes,” Albus says, now thoroughly intrigued.

The boy’s eyes come up to meet Albus’s, and he’s surprised to see them change color as Albus keeps looking. At first a mousy brown, they start lightening in color to a lovely hazel, and then settle on an icy, striking blue.

“Take out your tin and hand me another sweet,” the boy says, and Albus’s hand automatically reaches into his robes, pulls out the tin, and pops it open, selecting another cinnamon candy for Remus before Albus’s mind kicks back into gear and slams up his mental shields again.

Remus obviously detects Albus’s mind closing, because he breaks eye contact with Albus, instead fixating on a point beside Albus’s head. He accepts the candy quietly, and says, “Thank you. I apologize.”

Albus sits back, tapping his fingers on the side of the candy tin, deep in thought.

“Headmaster?” Lyall prompts.

“Hm,” Albus says. He feels his mouth breaking open into a smile without meaning to. “Brilliant,” he says. “Absolutely brilliant.”

“What?” Remus says beside him. It’s a bit strained, but Albus can’t tell whether it’s from emotion or simply because he’s sucking on another piece of candy.

Albus turns to Lyall again, and says, “Your wife?”

“Out swimming, at the moment,” Lyall says.

“Does she ever come to shore?”

“Yes, she does actually live here, sir.”

Albus smiles again. He’d forgotten about Lyall’s dry sort of humor. “Please, call me Albus,” he says again. “There aren’t many recorded accounts of sirens, as I’m sure you know. Or of people like Remus here, for that matter.”

“Yes,” Lyall says. “Hope prefers it that way, and I think it’s for good reason.”

Albus looks at Remus again, who still hasn’t met his eyes. “I’m not mad, Remus,” he says softly. “Really, I would’ve handed you another sweet anyway if you’d wanted it, so there’s no harm done at all.”

“Yeah, but I…” Remus takes a deep breath. “Between _that_ and full moons, it means I’ll never be able to come to Hogwarts.”

“Full moons?” Albus asks, a bit taken aback.

“Well,” Lyall says, looking a bit uncomfortable. “Remus would’ve been moon-affected even if...even if the attack had worked.”

“But it didn’t because of his genetics,” Albus says, finally piecing it together. “And cost Greyback his life instead. And at full moons, Remus can’t control himself?”

“Neither can Hope,” Lyall says, almost defensively. “It has nothing to do with that monster Greyback, instead it’s the tides. If Remus is able to perform compulsion magic like that while speaking, imagine him singing. And imagine him singing at the point where the waters are the most susceptible to strength _and_ magic.”

“I see,” Albus says, and tugs on his beard again, his hand coming up to adjust his half-moon spectacles.

“Yes,” Lyall says evenly. “So you see why Remus can’t come to Hogwarts.”

“Oh,” Albus says, eyes twinkling, “That’s not what I meant at all.”

Remus leans forward, pressing his elbows onto his knees. Albus notices, and sends him a wink.

“On the contrary,” Albus says, “I believe Hogwarts will be a fantastic place for Remus, and we’d be lucky to have such a strong young wizard like Remus, with such a natural affinity for wandless magic too.”

Remus blinks.

Lyall blinks too, and immediately opens his mouth to argue the point. Then, as if he thinks better of it, he closes it again.

There’s no arguing with Dumbledore, after all; not when he’s made his mind up, and certainly not when you’d been hoping for this outcome anyway.


	3. BEFORE: The Train Ride

The rules are quite simple for Remus: don’t give out any direct commands, and don’t make any eye contact with others, if you can help it.

“It won’t be forever,” his mother had promised, when Remus had initially balked at the suggestion. “Just until we can get your powers under control, love.”

But Remus had heard that before. He’d been told that every year, given excuse after excuse why he couldn’t run around with other playmates. Not that he’d find any, as secluded as they were out on the coast.

Remus is quite used to these rules. But them being applied in a different context--when Remus was going to _Hogwarts--_ well. It feels much different. Feels much more like a cage.

When Remus tries to explain that to his parents, using halting, stuttering words and staring down at his lap more often than not, his mother and father sigh in tandem.

“The issue, Remus,” his father says, “is that there are very few… if any... wizards out there with such a high concentration of Fae blood. It complicates things. It means you’re much more powerful. And that’s helpful, but it also can be scary. And we don’t want you to--”

“Hurt anyone,” Remus finishes up for them, eyes flashing even as he keeps his eyes firmly fixated on his lap and his hands, wound tight around each other. “I know, but I haven’t hurt anyone. Not since that weird werewolf dude, and that wasn’t even on _purpose,_ I--”

“Oh, honey,” his mother says, silken and sweet as always. She comes to his side, crouches down, and cups her hands around his. “It’s not your fault. It’s just--a bit complicated, and the world always is.”

“Yeah, but,” Remus says, and has to stop when he suddenly feels himself choking back tears. He swallows hard, and looks up at his mum. Her eyes are a soft sort of amber color, today, matching his. “I just wish I could be normal. I’m happy I’m going to Hogwarts, I am, but the other kids…”

His mum sighs, and rubs her thumbs over the backs of his hands. She exchanges a look with his dad, who nods, tussles Remus’s hair, and heads out to his home office, shutting the door behind him.

“What do you know about Sirens, love?” she asks.

Remus frowns. “I mean, loads, mum. I’m half, after all.”

“Yeah,” his mum says, smiling. “Tell me the good parts.”

“Music,” Remus says immediately, and his mum nods indulgently. “I mean, it’s beautiful, and we--we understand it, better than most. Know what makes it beautiful, so we can recreate it ourselves.”

“What else?”

“The tails,” Remus says, smiling bashfully. “Yours is beautiful, mum, and swimming underwater--feeling the rush of water around you--I mean, I don’t even have gills and it’s just so…”

“Beautiful,” his mum finishes, gently. “I’m glad you love those parts, honey. But there are bad parts, too.”

“The compulsion magic,” Remus says darkly, and his mum nods.

“I… I think it’s harder for you, love,” she says, gently. “Most Sirens can control it, but. With your magical core, as a wizard--I don’t think you can help it, love. But it also means you don’t have to have souls to cast powerful magic.”

“Mum?” Remus says, suddenly feeling very wary. She’s never talked about this part before. Sure, Remus knew, abstractly, that Sirens killed people, but. He never knew why. He’d never known his mum to do it.

His mum smiles again, but her eyes morph into a sort of sickly grey color. She reaches up to cup his cheek again. “Your dad and I were gonna wait til later, to explain this all to you. But you’re going to Hogwarts, and that’s only what’s right. But I suppose now’s the best time, my dear.”

She sighs, and removes her hands from his. Instead, she settles herself in her favorite armchair, and grips onto her thigh with a white knuckles. 

“Siren magic works much differently than normal wizardry,” she begins. “Fae magic relies on trickery, as I’m sure you remember from your books. There’s a reason for that--the act of tricking someone to do your bidding, it’s powerful. It puts you in a higher position than them, both physically and metaphysically. It’s the assumption that you’ve outdone someone, and that’s most of what magic is for us. It’s confidence, and it’s excess energy you’ve earned from the tricked person that you’re confident you can mold to do your bidding.”

“Mum,” Remus says. “I’m not sure I--quite understand.”

She smiles, and waves the implied question away. “Not many do,” she says. “Old magic isn’t studied very often, and even modern-day wizards aren’t quite sure what sets them apart from the people they call Muggles. It’s soul magic, it is. Complicated, existential stuff to latch onto, so most wizards don’t try to understand. In the end, they just assume they’re better than those who can’t do traditional magic, even though that’s not correct at all.

“But that’s your dad’s history, and you’ll learn all about it in time. Siren magic, it comes from Fae magic. Sirens are descendants of Fae folk and Merpeople. It makes us unique. It’s also very complex, our magic system, and very difficult to work out for those not a part of it. 

“The thing is, we’ve got magic even without trapping and taking souls. But with souls… God, it’s an addiction for so many Sirens. I can do simple water magic without consuming a soul--and darling, I’ve never, ever taken a single soul--but taking a soul means you can do so much more. It means your voice is that much more powerful. You can trick more people into drowning in your waters, and you gain more powers through that, and then you trick even more people. It’s a never-ending cycle.”

Remus swallows. His throat suddenly feels very dry. “So full moons…” he says, and then finds he can’t finish the sentence. He starts rubbing at his shoulder, his fingers digging into his skin.

His mum nods gravely. “Just like our powers rise with soul magic, it also rises with the tide. We can’t control ourselves around full moons, love. It’s when the tides are most volatile, and so are we. The trance of the full moon is meant to call more souls to us, so we can feed and, ah--excuse the pun, my dear--tide ourselves over til next full moon.”

“I’m trying to kill people on full moons,” Remus says flatly, feeling much colder than normal. “I thought it was just a trance but I’m--I’m trying to lure people to me, aren’t I. So I can…”

She leans forward, eyes growing dark and serious, turning to a dark, chocolate brown that Remus can’t help but concentrate on. “I am, too, love. That’s why I sing with you on full moons. That’s why we live so far out, away from anyone who could hear our song. And I tell you this, not to expect you to understand everything I’m saying--hell, even your dad doesn’t fully understand Siren culture after being married to me for twelve years. But you need to understand the power that comes with Sirens, especially with the inherent, versatile magic core you have, Remus.”

Remus swallows again, and then gets up out of his seat to begin pacing. “So I’m dangerous,” he concludes, and tries to ignore the lump forming in his throat. “Really, really...dangerous.”

“You’re _powerful,_ ” his mum corrects, her mouth quirking up in a smile. “In ways we don’t understand yet, and I’m sure your headmaster doesn’t quite get it, either. You’re old magic mixed with new magic, with the ability to wield compulsion magic and normal spellcasting all within the same breath. But that’s why you need to be careful, love. Because even the adults don’t understand what they’re dealing with.”

“So that’s why I need to be careful?” Remus asks quietly. “Because I don’t--I don’t wanna hurt people mum, I’ve--I’ve never wanted to, I _swear._ If it’d be better, if I didn’t go to Hogwarts… I mean...”

His mum gets up off her armchair and pulls him into a tight hug. “It’s not fair,” she says. “I know that much. But you’re special, and you’re unique, and you deserve this education, my love. But we also need you to watch out for yourself, okay? Do you understand?”

“Of course,” Remus says, and hugs her back just as tightly. He tries to ignore the tears pricking at the edges of his eyes. “I get it. I’m sorry for complaining.”

His mum just shakes her head. “I’m sorry, love,” she says gently. “But I also love you. I love you so, so much, and I wouldn’t trade you for anything on this earth.”

***

“Don’t disappoint us,” Walburga Black hisses at Sirius, straightening out his robes with yet another sharp yank. Sirius tries not to wince as her claw-like fingers scrape at his collar, and then his hair.

There are a great many things that Sirius could say to this. Including, but not limited to: _I_ _t’s not like I’ve ever planned on it, it just hurts to live with your expectations; I don’t want to make things worse for Reg, of course I’ll try my best; I absolutely_ hate _you but you have control over me, anyway; I don’t think Uncle Alphard would act this way, even if you say he’s a queer and that means he’s a pervert._

None of these are things Sirius says, because he’s never been particularly brave, when it comes down to it.

So instead he says, “I’ll try not to, Mother,” but all that leads to is a sound, hard, stinging slap across the face.

“The correct answer is that you _won’t,_ ” Walburga says, and Sirius wants very much to point out that it’s the _same fucking thing_.

But he doesn’t, because, as discussed above, Sirius Black is a coward. So he takes the slap evenly, and doesn’t even rub at his cheek. Instead, he bends down and puts a hand on Reg’s shoulder, saying, “Be careful, this year, yeah?”

Reg nods, and then flings himself into Sirius, knocking the breath out of Sirius’s lungs on the impact. Still, he takes it in stride, and hugs him tight, trying not to look over at his mother and her no-doubt incensed expression. It always seems like she’s incensed, when it comes to Sirius.

Sirius lets go of Reg eventually, and then endures an awkward handshake with his father, whom he’s not particularly fond of, either. While Orion’s never done anything to him, he’s also never done anything to _stop_ Walburga from hating Sirius.

Sirius can’t even remember how it all started; perhaps Sirius expressed a preference for a nanny instead of Walburga. Maybe he broke one of her favorite plates. Maybe he was a difficult birth for her. It doesn’t matter anymore, because the result’s been the same for years.

On the bright side, he probably wouldn’t disappoint her at all, at least as far as the Sorting goes. Slytherin was where all the cowards and sadists went, just like Sirius’s father and mother.

Sirius bites his lip, then hugs his brother again, muttering out promises to write soon. Reg wants to know whether the Slytherin common room really _is_ under the lake at Hogwarts, and Sirius promises to let him know as soon as he finds out.

Then, Sirius grabs his trunk, twists away from his mother and father, and hops onto the train, only looking back to check on Reg before he shuts himself in a compartment.

Thankfully, he seems fine. His father’s hand rests on Reg’s shoulder, but it’s gentle, not like the rough hold Sirius usually gets. Must be easier _not_ to be the heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, Sirius muses. For a pureblood, rich boy, Sirius sometimes feels like he has rotten luck, and got dealt an awful hand at life.

Sirius turns away and drags himself and his trunk to the nearest empty compartment. He settles it right in the middle of the compartment, so that people know it’s occupied, and then heads for the front carriage, where Andromeda had said to find her to get help with his trunk.

He finds the prefect compartments fairly easily--there’s one for each year, all labelled neatly--and heads for the seventh-year prefect carriage. He opens it without knocking, which was probably not his best idea.

Especially since he walks in on Andromeda locking lips with the seventh-year Hufflepuff prefect. 

Sirius blinks. “Uh,” he says.

Andromeda breaks away from the boy quickly, shoving him against the train seat in her efforts to get away.

“Ow,” the boy says, rubbing his head.

“Sorry, Ted,” Andromeda says, not sounding sorry at all as she stares at Sirius. “I, ah--wasn’t expecting you so soon, Sirius.”

“Wanted to get away from my family,” Sirius says uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot. “I can come back, or… Cissy might help me, if I ask her nicely…”

“No! Ah, I mean, no, that’s not necessary,” Andromeda says, tucking her light brown hair behind her ears. A deep blush has started to radiate across her cheeks, making her pretty, heart-shaped face look even prettier. The Hufflepuff boy--Ted--looks from Andromeda to Sirius and then back again, biting his lip.

“Er, okay, lead me to your compartment,” Andromeda says, and rubs at the back of her neck with one hand. “Ted you, uh… you just stay here.”

Sirius looks from Ted and Andromeda again, and then shrugs.

“Okay,” he says, and grabs her hand, leading her out of the prefect compartment.

Sirius’s own chosen compartment is about five carriages back though, which means there was an awkward sort of silence between them as they walk. Sirius lets go of her hand as soon as they’re out of the front carriage, and Andromeda says, quietly, “No one knows. About me and Ted, I mean. At least, not in… the family.”

“Cissy’s so nosy, though,” Sirius points out, looking up at her. She snorts.

“She’s too busy snogging Lucius Malfoy to notice, trust me,” she says. 

Sirius bites at his cheek. “I won’t tell anyone. If that’s what you’re trying to ask me.”

“Just for the year,” Andromeda says, her big grey eyes staring down at him. “I’ll have to come clean before Mother tries to marry me off to a cousin or something.”

“And here I thought we had something special,” Sirius says dryly, and then stiffens immediately. Andromeda isn’t his mother, though, and just laughs gently.

Sirius relaxes again, and keeps walking. Andromeda flicks the side of his head, but it’s affectionate.

“You’ll love Hogwarts, though,” she says. “Really, you will, it’s incredible.”

Sirius swallows and then says, finally, what’s been on his mind: “I don’t fancy having to share a common room with all my family members and Cissy, though. You’re my favorite, and you’re gone within a year anyway, and I’ll be left with a bunch of snobs with no sense of humor.”

Andromeda just smiles at him. “It’s not just about Slytherin, though,” she says. “The Hat said I could’ve been Ravenclaw, too, you know, and that wouldn’t have been so bad. I have loads of friends in there, and also, ah. Hufflepuff. As you’ve clearly seen.”

“Oh, so you’re snogging him _and_ other Hufflepuff boys?” Sirius asks with a smirk. “Maybe I should go tell him--”

“No, no, there’s no one else, you mischievous little cretin,” Andromeda says, laughing and slinging an arm over Sirius’s shoulders. “Now, which one’s the compartment you chose?”

“Oh, uh--should be this one, actually, Sirius says, and opens it to find two other boys already there, each also with their trunks in the middle of the compartment.

“Oh, brilliant,” the taller one says. He’s got black, messy hair and round, thick spectacles. “Peter and I need help with these. You must be the one with the trunk we’d found in here. Good thinking, getting a prefect!”

“Er,” Sirius says, but Andromeda just smiles warmly, and pulls out her wand, levitating all three with ease up to the shelves above them.

“I’m Andromeda Black, and I’m a seventh-year prefect for Slytherin,” she says kindly. “Are you both first-years, like Sirius here?”

The boy with the spectacles nods, but the other boy--Peter, who’s a bit stout and has watery blue eyes--says a bit stupidly, “Your parents named you ‘Serious’? What’d they do that for?”

“Like the star, not the adjective,” Sirius says. Peter just stares at him, more confused, and Sirius sighs. “There’s a star, the brightest star in the sky, and it’s spelled S-I-R-I-U-S. That’s my name.”

“Oh,” Peter says, clearly not understanding at all but nodding anyway.

Andromeda just smiles, pats Sirius’s shoulder, and says, “If you need anything else, you know where to find me, Sirius.”

“Yeah _and_ I’ll knock first, if I need you again,” Sirius says, grinning at her. She just shakes her head, still smiling, and heads out of the compartment, leaving Sirius alone with the two boys.

Sirius bites down on his lip and stares at them.

The boy with the messy black hair is the first to speak. “Did she say she was Andromeda _Black?”_

“Yeah,” Sirius says, cautiously sitting next to Peter. The boy with the black hair occupies the opposite seat. 

The boy with the black hair wrinkles his nose. “My mum and dad don’t like the Blacks that much. Says they’re snobbish and too rich for their own good.”

Sirius stiffens a bit, and then leans forward. “Who’s your mum and dad, then?”

“Euphemia and Fleamont Potter,” the boy says. “Oh, and I’m James.” 

He sticks out a hand to Sirius, but he doesn’t shake it, just narrows his eyes.

“Andromeda’s my cousin,” Sirius says coolly. “I’m Sirius Black.”

“Oh, shit, you’re the heir,” James breathes out.

Peter looks quickly between the two of them, and leans away from the both of them, ending up plastered against the train window.

“Yeah,” Sirius says. “And for the record--your parents are kind of right, but Andie’s not like that. She’s better than my relatives, so don’t be rude about her, especially after she helped you out.”

“So you admit the rest of your family is kind of slimy,” James counters.

“Comes with being sorted into Slytherin for hundreds of years,” Sirius says, shrugging. “And according to my parents, yours are foolish blood traitors, but _I_ don’t put much stock into what they say.”

James, unexpectedly, lets out a big smile and a laugh at that. He leans forward, grabbing Sirius’s hand and forcing him to shake it. 

“You’re all right, Black,” he says, and Sirius presses his lips together, fighting the urge to smile back at him as James jauntily shakes Sirius’s hand.

***

One carriage over, and only a few moments later, Remus listens as the train lets out a few long, high-pitched whistles. The train suddenly lurches underneath him, the engines gasping and humming as it screeches away from the platform. Remus winces, and fights the urge to cover his ears. His hearing has always been especially sensitive.

Instead, he focuses on his book so he won’t have to look up at the boy and girl sitting across from him. _No eye contact,_ he reminds himself, even if it had made shaking the girl’s hand sort of awkward when she’d come into his compartment a few minutes ago, dragging the boy in just by his wrist. He’d had to look down at her hand as she’d said, “I’m Lily Evans,” and he’d let go as soon as possible, hands curling back around his paperback before he’d even told her his name.

“Interesting name, Remus Lupin!” she’d chirped in response. “My friend Severus here, Severus Snape, he’s used to those.” Then, she’d elbowed her friend, who’d said very quietly, “Nice to meet you.”

Remus had hummed, flipped a page, and said, “Good to meet you, too.”

From there, they’d gotten a nearby prefect--a cheerful, good-faced sort of boy named Frank--to help them with their trunks, and then they all settled into an uncomfortable sort of silence. But then the train whistles blow, and the girl--Evans--is up out of her seat, waving out the window as the train pulls away from the station. 

Remus bites down on his lip. His parents had already had to leave--his mother didn’t take well to Apparition, so they’d headed out to flag down the Knight Bus to take them back down to the coast. Before leaving, his mother had stuffed his pockets with saltwater taffy. His dad had handed him the book he’s trying to read, now-- _The Hobbit,_ by J.R.R. Tolkien.

“The wizard in it has always reminded me of Professor Dumbledore, you know,” he’d said, so Remus had settled down immediately to read. Gandalf came in very early, and Remus noticed the resemblance easily, like his dad had said. It was a fun read, and the description of Bilbo’s breakfasting habits made Remus grin.

Evans, noticing his expression and the title of the book, exclaims, “Oh! You like _Lord of the Rings_?” 

“I only just got this book,” Remus explains, flipping another page. He pulls out a piece of taffy and unwraps it from its wax paper, sticking it into his mouth. It's green apple-flavored--his favorite. “But, yes, it’s wonderful so far.”

“Sev told me not a lot of people at Hogwarts read Muggle books,” Evans says. “Are you muggleborn too, then?”

“Nah,” Remus says, “My dad went to Hogwarts. He’s the one who gave me this book, though, and it’s bloody brilliant, it is.”

“Wait til you get to Frodo’s whole adventure,” Evans gushes. “Oh, it’s fantastic, you’ll adore it. I actually packed the trilogy with my school things, you can borrow it when you’re finished.”

Remus smiles down at his book, but it’s not because of the words on the page, this time. “I may take you up on that, Evans.”

“Oh, call me Lily, please,” she says. “The last name thing has always felt so strange, to me.”

“Then I’m Remus, to you,” Remus says, and in his periphery, he sees her nod in agreement.

At this, Lily’s friend, Snape, leans forward. Remus glances up quickly, and sees that his eyes are narrowed. 

Snape catches Remus’s glance, and says, “Do you have some sort of problem with eye contact, then?”

Remus frowns, and his grip tightens around his paperback. Lily clucks her tongue and says, “No need to be rude if he’s just a bit shy, Sev. Lord knows you are, too.”

“It is a bit rude to hold an entire conversation when you won’t even look up from your book, though,” Snape points out tactlessly. 

Remus sighs, skims his paragraph, and says, “I have trouble with it, sometimes. It makes me nervous, so it’s easier to just try not to look at anyone.”

“See, Sev?” Lily says, elbowing him again. “And Remus has been perfectly nice, so far! Say sorry.”

“Sorry,” Snape says, not sounding sorry at all. Then, he leans a bit closer. “Your dad, though--you said he went to Hogwarts? What house?”

“Ravenclaw,” Remus says.

“Oh, I’d love to be Ravenclaw,” Lily says.

“You’ve got plenty of ambition, Lily,” Snape says. “I reckon you’d be a Slytherin. That’s the one I want, anyway. It’s tradition on my mum’s side to be a Slytherin.”

“Slytherin, that’s the one under the lake, right?” Remus asks. It would be nice to be so close to the water, Remus supposes. But then, he remembers: “Oh, but they can be mean about blood status and everything. That’s what my dad said, at least.”

“Blood status?” Lily asks.

“You’re muggleborn, right? They can be a bit cruel about that sometimes,” Remus says. “My dad said not to aim for Slytherin, seeing as my mum’s not a wizard. He said they may try to use that against me.”

“How so?” Lily asks. Remus risks a quick look up, and sees a divot growing between Lily’s eyebrows. She turns to Snape. “You never mentioned that.”

“As soon as they see how brilliant you are, it won’t matter,” Snape assures her. “I didn’t mention it because it doesn’t apply to you.”

He levels an odd sort of glare at Remus, but Remus pretends not to notice, instead electing to finish another page of _The Hobbit._ The dwarves that had shown up were about to sing about long-lost treasure. It’s really quite exciting.

“All the same,” Lily says, a bit worriedly, “I’m not sure if I’d want to hang out with the sort who cares about that kind of thing. My grandpa was Jewish, you know, and he used to tell all sorts of stories about how poorly he was treated back when he was young, and if it’s like that…”

“It’s not,” Snape says, and then shifts in his seat. He frowns, and then says, “I think I’ll get changed out of my Muggle clothes now, actually.”

“We’re hardly fifteen minutes into the ride,” Lily says. “I’m gonna wait til later.”

Remus, who’s quite comfortable in a pair of loose jeans and one of his dad’s old flannels, nods in agreement. Snape lets out a sigh that sounds a bit like a huff, but reaches up to his trunk and pulls out a bundle of robes anyway, heading out of the compartment to the nearest bathroom.

As soon as he leaves, Lily says, “Sorry, if you were a bit put off by him. My sister Petunia, she always says he doesn’t know how to act like a proper human being, which is a bit mean, but, well… but he’s nice, you know, once you get to know him.”

“I’m sure,” Remus says, but privately is glad that they’re almost certainly going to get sorted into different houses, if he's gunning for Slytherin. “You know, my dad said you have some control over where you get Sorted. So you don’t have to worry about getting thrown in with Slytherin if you don’t want to.”

“Really? I tried to read about Sorting in _Hogwarts, a History,_ but Bagshot doesn’t go into much detail about it--she’s more invested in the clock tower and whatnot. And Sev’s mum went to Hogwarts, but he says she doesn’t like talking about it much, so neither of us really know how it works.”

Remus smiles quietly, glad to have a bit of helpful advice for his new friend. “Well, my dad says they put this grubby, daft old hat on your head. Except it talks, and it can see inside your mind, and it decides which of the houses fit you best. But sometimes it mentions more than one, and you can choose between them. Or if you really don’t want a house, then it’ll make sure you won’t be sorted into that one.”

Lily makes a face. “That’s it? Wouldn’t a hat like that give you lice?”

“What’s lice?”

“I forget that wizards have different diseases than us,” Lily sighs. “It’s--they’re like bugs, but they get in your hair and it makes your hair all itchy and greasy. It’s really gross. I can’t believe that’s all it is, though. I was sure there’d be some sort of test, or something.”

Remus snorts. “You wanted there to be a test? You’re a Ravenclaw through and through, Lily Evans.”

“Well, maybe I’ll have you in my house, then,” Lily says, and smiles at him. Remus risks another glance up, and even makes eye contact with her. Her eyes are a bright, sparkling green, and her hair’s dark red, and long. She’s quite pretty, actually.

“Your eyes are quite a unique color,” Lily says, and Remus flicks his eyes quickly back down. “Sort of amber. I’ve never met someone with eyes like that.”

Remus coughs, and decides to use one of the lies his dad had thought up for him. It was better to establish it sooner rather than later, anyway. “My great-grandmother was a Veela,” he says.

“A Veela?” Lily asks, and Remus remembers that she’s Muggleborn.

“Oh, they’re--they’re a type of human magical being,” he says. “They’ve got magic to charm humans, and it’s--mostly through eye contact, so. It’s sort of what makes me nervous about looking at people.”

“That’s fascinating, Remus,” Lily says. “They really can charm people, just with their eyes?”

Remus, realizing he doesn’t know much about Veela, thinks fast and says, “My great-grandma could at least, and my grandma. My dad’s never done it, but he says I could all the time as a kid. It was sort of my… accidental magic.”

It’s half-true, at least. 

“How does it work?” Lily asks.

Remus presses his lips together. “I would look at people, and I’d tell them to do something, apparently, and they’d just--do it. My mum always joked that it was because I was cute, but. It’s made me feel odd to look at people ever since.”

There, that’s a good half-truth, and something he could remember. Maybe it’d even make his time at Hogwarts less awkward, if people knew the real reason why he was avoiding eye contact. They just wouldn’t know Remus’s true heritage, or what else he could do.

“That’s so interesting, though,” Lily says. “Oh, I have so much to learn about the magical world!”

Remus risks a glance up. “It doesn’t--make you feel weird?”

“Not at all, Remus,” she assures him. “I know you’d never do something like that on purpose.”

Remus blushes. “You just met me,” he says, and finds eye contact with her is coming easier. She smiles wider, the longer he looks at her.

“And I know,” she says. “But I'm confident I'm right."

“Thanks, Lily,” he says, and she smiles, opening her mouth to say something else. 

But that’s when the compartment door bangs open again, and Snape is standing there, frowning, his hair looking oddly wet and school robes rumpled. 

“What’s wrong, Sev?” Lily asks immediately and Remus says, without thinking, “Did someone hit you with a water curse?”

Snape’s frown grows even deeper, and Lily turns to look at Remus, subtly shaking her head. Apparently his hair’s always like that, then. In fact, now that Remus is really looking, it’s more greasy than anything else. He hadn’t noticed that over the pages of his book. Remus blushes, and stares down at his book in his lap.

“I got out of the bathroom and some other first-years made fun of me for changing so soon,” he says, huffing and sitting back down next to Lily. “Then one of them did the jelly-legs jinx on me and made me fall over. God, it was _obnoxious._ ”

Lily shakes her head, which is a cue for Remus to shake his head, too. He does so obediently. 

“That’s awful,” she says. “Should I have a word with them? Or I could get a prefect--”

“That’s hardly necessary, Lily,” Snape says, but now his face is burning as bright as Remus’s had, a second ago. “I don’t want to be a tattle before we’ve even left the train.”

“It’s not tattling if they’re _bullying_ you,” Lily says.

“It’s not bullying!” Snape protests. Remus keeps his eyes focused on his book, unable to contribute to the conversation. This was the most he’d ever interacted with others his age. He didn’t even know what bullying looked like, much less if Snape had just been the victim of it.

“At least tell me who they were, or what they looked like,” Lily says. “So I know, for later.”

“Fine,” Snape says. “One of them was named Potter, I think. The other was a Black--Sirius, I think, was his first name. Potter and Sirius Black. But I'm serious, don't confront them about it or anything. I don't want to cause myself any more trouble than I need to.”

“Thanks, Sev,” Lily says, and pats him on the knee. Remus glances up just in time to see Snape burn bright scarlet, and Remus immediately amuses himself by wondering whether Lily knew of Snape’s massive crush on her.

“What are you looking at?” Snape snaps at him, eyes flashing, and Remus jerks his head back down.

“There’s no need to be _rude,_ Sev!” Lily scolds, and then they go through the whole dance of arguing over whether Snape should say sorry to Remus again, twice in under an hour now.

Remus just shakes his head, and turns another page of his book. He’d been hoping for a peaceful ride, maybe without anyone at all in his compartment; he’d lucked out with Lily, but it seems he paid a price for that with Snape.

Still, one out of two wasn’t bad.

And it was a relief to have a friend, at least, and even before he’d gotten to Hogwarts.

He definitely wouldn’t tell Lily, if he could help it, but he’d never had a friend before. He hopes he doesn’t mess it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not me writing 5,000 words in a day just for funsies
> 
> who even am i anymore
> 
> also snape's not being bullied just fyi, but we'll get into that later. i love james potter and sirius black too much to make them anything more than LOVABLE assholes
> 
> sorry for the siren mythology lesson w/in this universe, it's just very important to build that kinda foundation for later
> 
> also!! stream FLOWERS for VASES/descansos by hayley williams lmao
> 
> last but not least fuck jkr my guyz


	4. YEAR ONE: The Sorting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo this sucks and i'm posting it anyway
> 
> getting better is next i will FORCE myself to write it
> 
> it's just from billy's perspective and bro. that's hard

“Well done on that jelly legs jinx again, mate,” James says to Sirius as they fiddle with their robes and wait for the okay to disembark. “Really impressive. Remind me not to get on the wrong side of your wand.”

“Hey, that guy made fun of good old Peter, here,” Sirius says, slapping Peter on the back. Peter smiles bashfully at the attention, and tries to tuck his shirt into his pants again. “I mean, all Pete did was trip in front of that greasy-haired git, and he started taunting Peter awfully just because of that. Thought that giving him a taste of his own medicine would teach him a good lesson.”

Peter says, “I really do owe you one, Black.”

And because Sirius is feeling magnanimous (and because James and Peter have been referring to one another by their first names the entire time), Sirius says, “It’s Sirius, since we’re mates and all.”

Peter squeaks in surprise, but his bashful grin grows brighter. James smiles too, and slaps Sirius on the shoulder. “You’re a good sort, even if you’re a Black,” he says. “Shame that you’ll have to be in Slytherin and I’ll be Gryffindor, though. I mean, imagine what we could get _up_ to, if we shared a house!”

Sirius just rolls his eyes. “Blacks have been Slytherins for hundreds of years, mate. As soon as you learn how to break that sort of curse, let me know.”

James grins brightly at him. “Maybe I will, Sirius,” he says. “Just for you, even.”

Sirius tries to ignore the way his stomach sort of flutters at that.

The Hogwarts Express lets out a series of long whistle blasts, signalling that it was _finally_ time to get off the train, and it effectively breaks the weird trance that had been building between James and Sirius.

Sirius clears his throat, hops up out of his seat, and claps his hands. “Well, enough of that sappy stuff, I suppose,” he says. “Time to face the rest of our school careers, lads!”

“Oh _hell_ yes,” James says, and Peter lets out another affirmative-sounding squeak. Sirius beams--he really can’t help how wide his smile grows, honestly--and is the first to burst out of their compartment and off the train.

He can’t help it--he’s just too excited.

***

Remus ends up in a boat with three other boys while crossing Hogwarts’ Black Lake, instead of riding with Lily and Snape.

It’s his fault, really--he’d been staring down at his book as he got off the train, eyes focused firmly on the page, undeterred by the low dusk light--he’d always been able to see well in the dark. 

He’d really wanted to finish his chapter, at least, but Lily’s excited chatter about the Sorting, and the Hogwarts castle, and how _cool_ everything magic was, had distracted him enough that it’d made reading hard while they were still in their compartment. Remus had trailed after Snape and Lily once they’d gotten off the train, and by the time he followed the sound of a booming voice calling first-years over, he’d been surrounded by a sea of similar-looking black cloaks that made everyone indistinguishable from one another. Remus had searched around for Lily’s bright red hair, or even Snape’s greasy, glistening chin-length mop, but he’d had no success by the time he’d gotten over to the boat docks the booming voice had directed him to.

So Remus ends up having to pick a boat as quickly as possible, jumping into an empty one as the booming voice (it belonged to a grizzled man who must’ve been at least ten feet tall--rather impressive, really) called out, “No more’n four to a boat! Less you wanna tip over, o’course.”

Remus takes a deep breath, settling on the back bench of his little canoe, and looks around. The tall man had led all the first-years to a cluster of low, scratched-up wooden docks. The boats and docks all sat atop a still, wide lake. This must be Black Lake, then. The one that Dumbledore had told him about, and the one that he’d spend all Sunday night in.

Remus leans over the side of his little boat and dips his hand into the water. He closes his eyes, and really tries to concentrate, letting his magic flow down into the water below him. Since he knows what to expect, by reading _Hogwarts, A History,_ it makes the whole thing a bit easier.

His mum had taught him how to do it--rudimentary sonar magic, detecting what was in your immediate vicinity while you were swimming. It was more important in saltwater, where Sirens usually sang, because animals weren’t swayed by singing the way humans were. “If there’s a shark nearby, you’re in danger of being eaten,” his mum always said. “Even if you try singing your prettiest song to it.”

In Black Lake, Remus can feel several things swimming and breathing underneath him. The grindylows, which _Hogwarts, A History,_ had strongly warned about, were moving through some of the shallower areas of the lake, harvesting freshwater clams and snails; the selkies, (which fill Remus with a thrill of excitement, even if they were unfriendly and unable to speak English, as Dumbledore had told him) which were swimming through their little underwater village and emptying out their underwater fishing nets for suppertime; and finally, the Giant Squid, which was treading water lazily underneath a high, arched bridge that crossed above Black Lake. Maybe, Remus thinks with amusement, it was planning to wave to the first-years as they passed underneath it.

Remus smiles, and withdraws his hand from the water, quickly wiping it on his robes. There wasn’t anything worrying within the waters of Black Lake (except for the Giant Squid, but Dumbledore had already assured him that it was very docile). His mum would be pleased about the lake. She’d wanted to know everything about Hogwarts’ arrangement for Remus’s full moons, and he could tell she was worried about him going into a moon trance while still going on school grounds.

Remus looks back over at the docks. Almost all the first-years were filed into their boats. With luck, Remus would get away with having a boat all to himself.

Almost as if they heard his thoughts, three boys all hop into Remus’s canoe at the same time. The two taller boys were laughing loudly over _something,_ and Remus has to bite back a sigh as they tumble into the boat, causing it to rock back and forth before it balances itself out again. 

The third boy is smaller, and grabs onto the sides of the boat as it rocks. He says in a squeaky, high voice, “James! Sirius! I don’t wanna get tipped into the lake!”

“Have a sense of adventure, Pete,” one of the boys says. He’s got black hair and he’s wearing spectacles that glint as he looks over at Peter, and then beyond him at Remus. His mouth curls into a wide smile, and he jerks forward, holding his hand out. “Hello! I’m James Potter, who are you?”

Remus shakes his hand, careful to look slightly to the left of the boy. He doesn’t notice, thankfully, in the dusk. 

“Remus Lupin. Hey, are you the one who jinxed Snape on the train?”

“Who’s that?” James asks, frowning.

“Greasy hair, sour expression, weird nose,” Remus supplies helpfully.

“Oh!” James’s expression clears up. “Definitely me and Sirius, here, then.” 

He pats the back of the other boy. When Remus looks at him, he’s a bit surprised by the haughty kind of beauty he sees there. Despite being only eleven, he had high cheekbones, sharp grey eyes, and inky black hair that was cut short on the sides, but fell in soft waves down to his forehead. 

“Sirius Black,” the boy says. He doesn’t offer a hand, like James, but rather looks Remus up and down carefully. “If it helps, your friend had it coming to him.”

“Not my friend,” Remus says, staring down at the floorboards of the boat. Snape had remained very standoffish, even after spending hours together. By the end of it, Lily was still Remus’s only friend. “He said you guys did it for no reason. I wanted to know if that was true.”

“It wasn’t for no reason!” the other, smaller boy pipes up. “It was because I tripped over in front of him, and he just started making fun of me! So Sirius and James made him fall, too.”

Remus chews on his lip and slowly turns over this new information in his head. “Yeah,” he says. “That makes much more sense. He’s very unpleasant. I had to share an entire train ride with him.”

“Tough luck, mate,” James says, and Remus shrugs.

“Firs’ years!” The tall, grizzled man calls out suddenly. Remus turns and sees that he’s settled himself into his own boat. The nose of it sticks straight up out of the water as compensation for supporting his weight. 

“It’s time to set off, firs’ years! Everyone got a boat?” He looks around one last time, and then, apparently satisfied, taps something that must be his wand, but actually looks rather like a large umbrella, against the side of his canoe.

All the boats begin to glide forward, and Remus sits back. A few students gasp around him, and the smaller boy in the boat turns to Remus again.

“Magic's so wonderful, isn’t it?” he asks, eyes still wide as anything. They’re very blue, an icy sort of color. I’m Peter, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Peter,” Remus says, and fixes his eyes on the castle ahead of them.

“D’you really think there’s a Giant Squid in here?” Remus hears Sirius ask. 

“If you’d like to find out, I can always drop you in,” James replies, as Remus feels a stirring in the water underneath them. Apparently his sonar magic hadn’t worn off yet.

“Hey,” Remus says quickly, “Five galleons that there’s a Giant Squid, _and_ he’s about to wave at us.”

“You’re full of it, mate,” James says, even as a giant tentacle bursts out of the water, right as they pass underneath the bridge. It moves side to side, a bit lopsidedly, before dropping back in the water.

“How’d you _do_ that?” Peter asks, growing ever more wide-eyed. At some point, Remus muses, his eyes might grow so big they swallow his whole face.

“I’ve got the Sight,” Remus says, wiggling his fingers mysteriously and grinning.

Peter looks like he’s about to faint, but Sirius just snorts and says, “Piss off, mate.”

“He probably just saw the water rippling and saw an opportunity,” James adds to Peter, who nods and seems marginally less concerned at that. “Good one, though!”

“Thanks,” Remus says. “Now, I wanna encounter this view of Hogwarts that _Hogwarts, A History,_ describes as ‘magnificent’ and a ‘once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,’ if you don’t mind.”

“Ah, don’t let us distract you!” James says, even as he starts to flick Sirius’s ear, causing him to retaliate by trying to rip the sleeve of James’s robe.

Remus bites back his smile, and makes sure to keep his eyes staring straight ahead, at the spires and towers that are starting to scrape against the sky, each seeming to glow with an ethereal sort of magic.

It really is gorgeous.

***

The boat ride to Hogwarts is beautiful, incredible, awe-inspiring, etc. So many good things, and really, Sirius should enjoy the view and magnificence of it more than he does.

The strange boy on their boat--Remus Lupin, that’s what he said his name was--enjoys it all. He hardly looks over at them at all, even when he’s talking to them. Too caught up in seeing everything, every inch of the castle, before they’re even inside.

But even as the full view of Hogwarts is on display--and it is lovely, made all the lovelier with the floating lanterns charmed to float along with the canoes--Sirius can’t help but think about the Slytherin quarters, supposedly right beneath the waters. He can’t stop picturing the Sorting Hat calling out _Slytherin!_ and in his head it’s soundless, and so’s the applause as he takes a seat at the Slytherin table, and so’s the rest of his Hogwarts experience for the next four years. Soundless, touchless, blandless. Surrounded by a bunch of purebloods who probably wouldn’t poke and prod and elbow at him, not like James has done the whole boatride, up to and including when they dock on the opposite shore and are led up cobblestone steps, into a large, echoing stone hall.

The groundskeeper takes his leave of them, shouting out a blanket good luck to all of the first years. As he heads back out the huge double doors, Lupin slips away from Sirius, James and Peter, instead making his way over to a redheaded girl and the slimy kid, Snape, who Sirius and James had hexed on the train.

Lupin scrunches up his nose when Snape says something to him, though, and turns away to stare at the stone floor. Sirius supposes that what Lupin had said was true--he really _didn’t_ like Snape. Lupin seems like a good judge of character.

They don’t have to wait long in the hall before a tall, black-haired, stern-faced woman walks crisply down a staircase, coming to face all the first-years. Sirius fights the urge to stand at attention. James jabs him in the shoulder, and Sirius turns to face James, frowning.

James just shrugs, and grabs Sirius’s chin, jerking him back to look at the stern-faced woman. Sirius pretends to be frustrated by this, but the corner of his mouth twitches more than he’d like it to as he refocuses on the woman in front of them.

“All right, welcome, first-years,” she says. Her voice is deeper than he’d expected, and she’s Scottish. The ends of all of her words are also clipped.

“I am Professor McGonagall, and I am the Head of Gryffindor House, as well as the Transfiguration professor. I look forward to having each and every one of you in my classes. I expect each of you to flourish at Hogwarts. All of you were accepted because you demonstrated exceptional magical ability, and that should be a point of pride as well as a jumping off point for you, as far as your studies are concerned.”

“But first, of course, you all must be Sorted. So, if you’ll follow me to the Great Hall, we may begin.”

With that, she turns sharply, her robes swishing smoothly as she strides down the hallway. The first-years sort themselves into an awkward, throbbing sort of line as they all follow her quick footsteps. She leads them to another set of large, double doors, and props one open with a flick of her wand. She gestures them through, and Sirius feels James grab onto his sleeve as they enter the Great Hall.

It’s huge--even bigger than the stone hallway they’d come from. There’s the head table, of course, sitting lengthwise on a raised dais on the far side of the hall, with all the professors and the headmaster himself already watching the first-years with a polite kind of interest.

There are also four long, polished wooden benches, each already seating the older students, who watch them with interest as they pass. McGonagall leads them right down the center, past the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables. Sirius risks a glance left, and sees the Slytherin table. Narcissa, her pointy-faced boyfriend Lucius, and Andromeda are all already staring at him, as well as some other that Sirius recognizes vaguely as either his father’s lackeys, or distant cousins. Sirius blushes, and looks quickly away.

“They look a bit miserable, don’t they?” James comments quietly, into Sirius’s ear. Sirius just shrugs.

“Haughty pride’s a trademark of Slytherin,” Sirius says. “I’ll probably learn the facial expressions tonight from the prefects as part of the welcome package.”

“You know,” James says, carefully, “if you really don’t want to, then you don’t have to. Ask the Sorting Hat to pick someplace different. You’d be a good Hufflepuff.”

Sirius laughs, and flips two fingers at James with his free hand. His right sleeve is still gripped tightly by James, but Sirius finds he doesn’t mind it at all.

“I have to, you know that, you git,” Sirius says.

“There’s no sense in living somewhere that makes you miserable,” James says, and Sirius blinks. It’s not Slytherin, necessarily, that he’s dreading--it’s more that it’ll make his parents happy, and it feels like a seal to his fate as the Black Heir. And that means more dinners with his parents, and arranged marriages, and possibly always going to bed with bruises on his torso and having to practice his political smiles in the mirror.

But it’s something he has to do. It’s his birthright, even if Sirius has grown to dislike it.

Sirius opens his mouth to say just that, but is cut off by Professor McGonagall producing a ratty, greying hat--the _Sorting Hat--_ from beneath her robes, and conjuring a three-legged stool. She sets the stool in front of the head table, smack-dab in the middle of the hall. Then, she sets the Sorting Hat on the stool, which, to Sirius’s horror, automatically opens its mouth and starts croaking out the oddest song he’s ever heard.

Far apart from its terrible rhymes (it matches up “Gryffindor” with “find the door,” and “Hufflepuff” with “not _not_ up to snuff,” and Sirius wants to claw out his ears), its voice was also gravelly, grating, and fully out of tune. Sirius looks over at James, and then at Peter, who both stand at rapt attention and listen to the Sorting Hat with a weird sort of awe.

Sirius tries not to groan, and looks around the hall rather desperately. All of the students seem to listen to the Sorting Hat with a great amount of respect, smiling broadly and even nodding along to its quite frankly upsetting grasp on musical keys. 

Sirius sighs, and shakes his head, turning to look behind him one last time before submitting to listening to the Hat’s song with a faint sort of displeasure.

But as he glances behind him, he catches the eyes of Lupin.

He’s grimacing at the Sorting Hat, eyebrows pulling down toward his nose and eyes squinted and glittering. His eyes are a glowing kind of amber color, Sirius realizes, and as Lupin turns to meet Sirius’s gaze, they seem to brighten, mixing in a light grey-blue at the edges of his irises.

He pulls a face at Sirius, who nods understandingly, and then drops his gaze to the floor. Sirius smiles to himself, and turns to face the stool once more. At least someone else hated the song as much as he had.

Finally--blessedly--the song finishes in a sort of elongated croak, and Professor McGonagall pulls out a roll of parchment from the front pocket of her robes. She clears, her throat, and then calls out: “Avery, Iridia!”

Sirius tenses up again, and he feels James’s fist tighten against his robe sleeve once more.

Iridia Avery takes no time at all to be sorted. As soon as the Hat is set onto her head, it yells out, “RAVENCLAW!”

Everyone claps politely, and a few Ravenclaws even drum out a rhythm with their feet enthusiastically, as the girl makes her way over to their table. Once the furor dies down enough, McGonagall calls the next name--Awelet, Bernard--who’s just as quickly sorted into Hufflepuff.

The next name is a Baker, Titian. He takes a while longer, but the Hat eventually bellows out, “SLYTHERIN!”

The boy takes off the Hat and saunters over to the Slytherin table. Sirius risks a glance over again, and finds a lot of the pureblood Slytherins already looking back at him. Sirius chews at his cheek, and barely has the time to rip his eyes away from the dark, soulless eyes of one of the Mulciber brothers when McGonagall reaches the next name on her list: “BLACK, SIRIUS!”

James lets go of Sirius’s robes, and Sirius takes a deep, fortifying breath. Then, he breaks away from the congregation, and up to the stool.

McGonagall is already holding the Hat up. Sirius glances at it, then at her, who gives him a tight smile that looks more like a grimace than anything else. Then Sirius sits down, and feels the Hat settle down over his head.

There’s nothing, for a long moment. It’s probably not as long as Sirius thinks, to be fair--but he just wants it over with. He grips the underside of the wooden seat with both of his hands, and closes his eyes.

 _“Hmm...interesting,”_ Sirius hears the gravelled voice of the Hat murmur into his ear. “ _Very interesting...you are a Black, yes?”_

Unbidden, an image of his mother’s knuckles, adorned with heavy, scraping rings, flashes in Sirius’s mind. Sirius hears the Hat tut.

 _“Oh, I_ am _sorry, my boy,”_ it says, with the deep, throaty tone of sincerity. _“But I see none of the cutting ambition other Blacks have possessed...and much like that cousin of yours, Andromeda, you don’t hold much regard for blood status...no, Slytherin wouldn’t do at all.”_

Sirius’s eyes pop open in surprise. _What the fuck?_

 _“It’s true,”_ the Hat says. If it had shoulders, Sirius feels like it would be shrugging. _“No, instead I see intense loyalty--that brother of yours, yes, and the new friends you’ve already met..and your dedication to Slytherin, even if you didn’t want it...yes, that loyalty, the sense of duty, your willingness to face what’s undesirable...I know just the thing.”_

“GRYFFINDOR!” the Hat bellows out.

Sirius freezes. The entire Great Hall does for a moment, too.

Then, there’s loud clapping, so loud it almost sounds like it's ripping the airwaves in two. It's coming rom only one person in the entire hall. It’s James.

Sirius looks over at him. He’s grinning madly, wildly, hands slapping together. He looks like he might wolf whistle, and Sirius almost thinks he sees a tear or two in James’s eye. Which would be absolutely ridiculous, and makes Sirius's heart oddly swell, anyway.

Another person joins in--Andromeda. She’s more polite about it, but Sirius sees her nod at him out of the corner of his eye. He can’t bear to look at Slytherin head-on.

The clapping must break the ice, because McGonagall is lifting the Hat off of Sirius’s head and smiling at him, much more meaningfully than she had before. Sirius staggers a bit as he gets off the stool, and heads for the Gryffindor table in a bit of a daze.

Gryffindor. Bloody fucking _Gryffindor._

Sirius was going to receive so many Howlers.

***

Remus frowns in confusion as Sirius hops off the stool stiffly. The Gryffindor table seems to have finally realized they’d gotten their first member, because they burst out in enthusiastic, if rather scattered, applause.

“Why’s _that_ a big deal?” he asks Lily and Snape quietly, as the next student (Bretton, Natalie) is called.

Lily just shrugs, but Snape says, with a bit of a sneer, “Blacks are always sorted into Slytherin. It’s a tradition that’s spanned centuries. Figures that Sirius Black would be the one to be the black sheep of the Black family, as it were.”

Remus rolls his eyes. Snape’s still miffed about what happened on the train, then. If James, Sirius, and Peter were all telling the truth (and Remus suspects they were, considering how much more sense their version of events made), then Snape’s worse than just a standoffish, sneering boy; he’s a manipulator, and a liar. Remus finds himself less impressed by the minute, with Snape.

A few more other students are sorted, but nothing as noteworthy as Sirius. Remus all but tunes out the Sorting Hat, at least until it gets to “Evans, Lily!”

Lily gasps, as if she hadn’t expected it. Snape reaches forward and squeezes at her wrist. She turns to Remus, who smiles and says, “Good luck.”

She nods, and pushes through the still-thick crowd of first-years. As soon as she’s left their sides, Snape and Remus immediately separate, Remus standing more off to the side and Snape making his way to the back. It’s just as well--better, even, since it means Remus won’t have to worry about being lied to, anymore.

Lily’s Sorting, as it turns out, takes absolutely no time at all. As soon as the Hat touches her head, it yells out, “Oh, you’re without a _doubt_ a GRYFFINDOR!”

Lily blushes a fire-engine red. Remus can’t help but look over to Snape, who’s facial expression, already sour, becomes impossibly more sour, as if he'd just bitten into an unripe lemon after sucking on a Gobstopper.

Remus smiles quietly to himself, and watches as Lily hurries over to the Gryffindor table. She sits herself down a few seats away from Sirius, who--well, actually, he doesn’t look too good.

His face is pale and drawn, and he’s got his head in his hands. Lily doesn’t notice--she’s too busy already making conversation with an older girl next to her. But Remus watches as Sirius sucks in his cheeks, and kicks his feet at the ground underneath him.

Remus bites at his lip, and tries to look away from him as other students get Sorted. But Remus’s gaze keeps gravitating back to him, over and over again, like an orbit.

He just seems so miserable _,_ is all.

Remus is so distracted by the other boy’s apparent suffering, that he almost misses it when McGonagall calls out, “Lupin, Remus!”

Remus has to blink a few times, shaking his head as he makes his way to the front, acutely feeling everyone’s gaze on him. He fights the urge to crouch his shoulders or shuffle his feet.

He’s small enough that when the Sorting Hat slips onto his head, the brim falls low, so that Remus can’t really see the others staring at him. This actually works out for the better, as Remus already feels a twist of nausea, just _knowing_ that people are watching him.

_“Lupin, hm? Well, just like your father, I can tell you’ve got a brilliant mind, and a deep thirst for knowledge,”_ the Hat muses. _“Definitely the makings of a great Ravenclaw--oh, but what’s this? Oh, you’ve got Fae blood--Siren magic, to be specific, my boy. Fascinating. I haven’t seen a wizard with ties to Old Magic in many years.”_

_“I can feel your heart, as well--it’s a good one. And a determination to make sure you keep everyone around you safe. I suppose there’s two houses you would do well in--do you have a preference, son? Ravenclaw or Gryffindor?”_

Remus almost immediately goes for Ravenclaw. After all, it’s where his father was placed, and Remus knows how pleased his father would be, to see Remus following in his footsteps. His dad had adored Ravenclaw.

But--Lily was in Gryffindor, and they’d said, however jokingly, that they’d be housemates. And, moreover… Sirius looked lonely. Very lonely. If there was even a chance Remus could help with that--his grey eyes just looked so mournful, and his angular face was already streaked with sadness.

And he’d seemed nice on the boat, so.

_“I see you’ve made your choice! Alright, so that’ll be_ GRYFFINDOR!”

Remus pushes up the brim of the Hat before McGonagall even has the chance to help him take it off. He hops off the stool quickly, and strides over to Gryffindor as loud cheers erupt from the table.

Remus sees Lily gesturing at the seat next to her, but Remus looks at her and jerks his head over at Sirius, subtly. She bites her lip, tilts her head, but then shrugs. Remus smiles, and hops into the seat right across from Sirius.

“Hey,” Remus says, sticking out his hand and carefully looking at Sirius’s forehead, so it seems like he’s looking at Sirius. “I know we’ve met before, but maybe I should reintroduce myself, seeing as we’re probably dorm mates, now. I’m Remus Lupin.”

Sirius looks up at him, and--thank god--starts to smile back at him. Just a little bit. Like a reflex, but still. It’s something.

“I know your name,” he says, shaking Remus’s hand anyway. “And I hope you know mine, considering we were on the boat, together.”

“Sirius,” Remus says, nodding. “Like the star.”

Sirius’s smile finally blooms, in full force. It makes his pretty face even prettier. Remus almost wants to pat himself on the back for a job well done.

“Exactly the star,” Sirius says, his chest puffing out a bit. “Brightest star in the sky.”

Must be hard,” Remus says. “Living up to all that expectation, just for your name.”

Sirius snorts. “Are you talking about my first or last name?”

“Oh, definitely the first,” Remus says, examining his nails against the lacquered tabletop. “Seeing as you’re dim as all hell.”

And Sirius laughs. Actually, fully laughs, even as he says, “You’re no better, _Wolf Wolf.”_

Remus says, with the straightest face he can muster: “It’s truly awrf-ful.”

Sirius laughs again, and this time, his shoulders even shake with it.

Remus beams, and immediately knows he’d made the right choice, going with Gryffindor.


	5. YEAR ONE: First Full Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the way this ends is not great and i had no other way to do it yay
> 
> i'm peacing out to go listen to the strokes have fun my dudes

Remus wakes up on his first Sunday at Hogwarts, and he already knows that it’s going to be a painful day.

On full moon days, his legs always ache with a sharp, insistent kind of hurt. His mum says it’s because his body is preparing for the full moon trance, which forces him into a tail shift whether he’s on dry land or not. As soon as the moon rises, Remus is immediately part fish, and he can’t help it until the moon sets again. 

It’s not like other tail shifts, as well--those happen when Remus is submerged in water, and are much more natural than moon trance shifts. It just feels like bending his knees, or rolling his shoulders--a sort of joint that, instead of moving limbs, melds them together. 

But moon trance shifts _snap._ That’s the only way to describe it because it happens so quickly. One moment he’s on two legs, and then his legs are shoved together and sprouting green-blue scales, all so quickly that it burns and stings. 

And all of this, of course, is without mentioning the main part of the moon trance--the singing. 

It’s alway fine at the beginning of the night--sometimes Remus even feels like he’s in control of it, feels almost himself. But as the moon begins to set again, and daylight starts creeping back into the sky, his voice is forced to grow louder, to begin shrieking and wailing, screaming out for someone, anyone, to hear him. 

Back at home, Remus and his mum usually can’t speak for a day or two afterward, and his dad makes them mugs of tea that’s mainly honey until they can manage whispers or croaks. Sometimes his mum comes away with deep, bleeding scratches on her neck, like she’d been trying to claw out her own throat at the end of the night.

And now, at Hogwarts, with Remus finally knowing the point of the moon trance (to entrap people, to kill them and steal their souls), without his mum to keep him company… well, Remus definitely isn’t looking forward to it.

It also doesn’t help that James and Sirius wake him up on Sunday by shaking him so hard he nearly falls out of bed.

_“What,”_ Remus groans out, rubbing sleep away from his eyes to find the both of them too close to his bed, grinning at him with match devilish smirks. Not for the first time since the Sorting, Remus idly wonders whether he made the right choice, picking Gryffindor over Ravenclaw. Remus bets that Ravenclaws let their dorm mates sleep in on Sundays.

He shoves his head under his pillow, and Sirius says, “C’mon, Remus! Breakfast just started getting served and afterward, we can try and find more secret passages afterward! Peter’s already up, he wants to find the passage to the kitchens, so it’s just you, and James and I have been trying to get you up for _ages.”_

“Go without me,” Remus mutters into his mattress.

“If you really don’t want to--” James starts to say.

“Nope, you’re coming with,” Sirius says definitively. “Now get up before I sit on you.”

Remus groans, but in the few days that he’s known Sirius, he’s grown very used to how insistent Sirius can get. So he reluctantly throws back his bed covers, and says, “Give me five minutes, yeah?”

James smiles, and pulls Sirius away, finally, from Remus’s bed frame.

 _“Amazing,_ Remus! We’ll find all the secrets of Hogwarts! I _know_ we will!” Sirius cheers, and is immediately put into a headlock by James.

Yeah, the Ravenclaws probably were a lot calmer than Remus’s dorm mates. But they probably had a lot less fun, Remus bet.

***

Sirius had honestly thought that his life was over, when he got sorted into Gryffindor.

As he’d headed toward the Gryffindor table (on the wrong side of the Great Hall--on the right, instead of the left, and it felt so backwards, as if he’d accidentally stepped into a mirror), he’d had a horrible vision of his parents showing up to school the next day, as soon as they heard about the Sorting. In it, they’d torn him limb from limb, his blood staining the halls as red as Gryffindor’s principal color.

But that hadn’t happened.

Sure, he’d gotten a Howler--had actually gotten a Howler every day this week, if you wanted to get technical about it. First his mum, screaming at the top of her lungs, and then his dad, speaking in a cold, low, but caustic kind of voice--the kind that would leave burns on your skin like dry ice if you touched it--and then one from his mum again, and one today from his grandfather, of all people, which was rather impressive, seeing as Walburga had told him that the old man was on his deathbed last summer _._ You wouldn’t have known it, from the way his booming, gravelly voice had filled the hall.

But they all affected him less than he thought they would.

It was all down to James, and Peter, and Remus. Especially Remus.

He’d been the first boy to be sorted into Gryffindor aside from Sirius, and he’d come over, mild-faced and eyes focused on anything but Sirius’s face, still making polite conversation and even teasing him a bit. His light, musical voice had somehow managed to pull Sirius out of his worst trains of thoughts, and he'd even gotten him to laugh a tiny bit.

And then, of course, James had gotten sorted into Gryffindor like he was always meant to, with Peter following right behind (after a very lengthy sorting process, of course--Sirius had heard one of the prefects call it a hatstall, which apparently hadn’t happened in decades).

James had sat down right beside Sirius with a loud whoop, clapping him on the shoulder hard and swearing, up and down, "I _knew_ you could do it! I knew it! I _knew_ we’d be best friends from the train, didn’t I?”

And it was wonderful, it truly was, and it had kept his mind off everything for the feast, all the way up to the common room and the welcome speech and even the dorm room. But when he’d lay down to sleep, he just couldn’t. His brain just couldn’t let him go to sleep, and instead had filled him up with awful things, just like at the feast. Images of torn limbs, and a snake choking out a lion, and his mum scraping her rings across his cheek while Regulus watched on, uninterested and uncaring.

But when it had gotten too much and Sirius had gotten up, stretching out his shoulders until they popped, he’d found Remus already sitting on the windowsill, a tin of sweets next to him and a dog-eared, paperback novel in his hands. 

And Remus had noticed, and beckoned him over, offering all the saltwater taffy in his tin because his mum had made it, but he ‘didn’t like saltwater taffy much, except for the green apple flavor, so you can pick what you like.’ 

He’d said all of this without taking his eyes off his book, flipping to another page, and Sirius had actually liked it that way, the feeling that he was something so regular and ordinary to Remus that Remus didn’t even bother to look up at him. It filled him with an odd sort of companionship.

Plus, Remus’s mum’s sweets were very good.

So right there and then, Sirius had decided that all four of them would be friends: James, Remus, Peter, and him. He’d orchestrated the seating in their classrooms so they were always next to each other, and always made sure they paired up with each other, and always made sure to rib James at mealtimes and knock Remus’s book out of his hands at least once per day. Remus always rolled his eyes at him, picked up his book, and kept on reading, but it was with a small smile on his face that wasn’t there before.

And since all four of them would be friends, and Sirius really hadn’t _had_ friends before, unless Regulus counted--Sirius figured it was important to start learning everything there was to know about them.

He’d made good progress, so far, despite being only a few days in: for instance, Sirius figured out very quickly that James was mad about Quidditch; his parents were older but he loved them; and that his eyesight was so bad that normal enhancement charms didn’t work, so he and his dad had resorted to going to a regular Muggle optometrist and picking up a pair of coke-bottle, wire-framed glasses.

Sirius had learned that Peter was a sucker for any kind of sweet, but especially puddings and things that came with whipped cream; that Peter was a half-blood, but despised anything Muggle, because he’d been regularly bullied in primary school; and that he sort of knew James, having been neighbors with him since he was nine.

And Sirius had learned from Remus that he’d grown up on the coast, and absolutely adored the sea. He learned that Remus didn’t like eye contact, and he’d mumbled something out about having Veela blood when Sirius had asked him about it (which Sirius could believe--Remus was pretty, but in a way that was entirely unexpected, with his honey brown curls and odd amber eyes that seemed to change color every so often). He learned that Remus loved to read, that his dad had gone to Hogwarts, and he loved his parents just as much as James, but when he was asked about his mum, he seemed to grow more thoughtful, and often dodged questions like what she did for a living, or how she’d met his dad.

By the time Sunday rolls around, Sirius is quite satisfied in his knowledge of his friends, and much more interested in learning secrets of the castle. After all, _Hogwarts, A History,_ had mentioned the existence of several secret passages; but where they were, or how to get to them, were curiously unlisted. Whether this is because Bathilda Bagshot wanted to preserve the secrecy, or just because she didn’t know, Sirius isn’t sure--but he knows he wants to find out.

Yes, Hogwarts is certainly looking up despite the rough start. And honestly, the more mornings he wakes up in Gryffindor Tower, surrounded by burgundy blankets and soft golden lighting, he wonders whether it was a rough start at all, or if he’d actually managed to dodge a killing curse.

***

Remus’s legs really start to hurt by the time the four of them have made it up to the sixth floor of Hogwarts, and he almost makes an audible noise of pain when he has to hop over a trick step on one of the staircases. When they get to the landing, Remus has to lean against one of the railings and catch his breath.

Sirius notices first, because of course he does. He’s dogged and curious, as Remus has learned over the past week. It always feels like Sirius’s grey, shimmering eyes are always focused on Remus, as he does homework, or laughs at one of James’s jokes, or flips to a new chapter in his book. Remus knows that this isn’t _really_ the case--plenty of times Remus has looked up, and Sirius was quite distracted with something else--and Remus wonders whether this feeling of Sirius’s constant vigilance is partly true and partly imagined, or just entirely hopeful on Remus's part.

No matter what the case is, Sirius certainly is more observant that James or Peter this time--James is laughing over Peter tripping on the trick step, and Peter is looking around, muttering something about how he doubts the kitchens are located on the sixth floor. 

Sirius, though--he sidles up to Remus, and asks, quietly, “You all right?”

Remus shrugs, and tries to work at a knot in his leg. “I feel a bit peaky, to be honest,” he says. He may as well try and set up the sick story early on, so when he excuses himself to the infirmary later, it’ll make more sense.

Sirius frowns and says, “D’you need to go see the nurse? Or, like, lie down or something?”

“Maybe lie down,” Remus says, and risks a quick glance upward to smile and furrow his eyebrows in apology. “I don’t wanna interrupt the adventure, though, so I can go back without you all--”

“Nonsense!” Sirius says, and claps his hands, turning to James and Peter. “Lads, Remus isn’t feeling too well, so we’re headed back to Gryffindor Tower, now.”

James says, “You all right, Lupin? Do we need to take you to the infirmary?”

“But we haven’t found the kitchens, yet,” Peter whines.

Sirius just rolls his eyes, and then--bizarrely--lowers himself down onto one knee.

“What are you doing?” Remus asks.

“Piggyback,” Sirius says, shimmying his shoulders. “C’mon, you don’t expect me to make you walk _all_ the way back there, right? This is what friends do!”

“You aren’t strong enough to carry me all the way there,” Remus says, raising his eyebrows.

Sirius just turns to smile back at him, his teeth white and the turn of his mouth decidedly mischievous-looking. “Is that a challenge, dear Lupin?”

Remus snorts, but obligingly climbs onto Sirius’s back.

Sirius gets him about halfway to the Gryffindor Landing before he tires out, and drops to his knees. Remus laughs and climbs off his back, only for James to kneel before him, arguing that he can’t be outdone by Sirius. 

So Remus gets carried all the way back to Gryffindor. And even though his legs don’t hurt any less, and he’s bound to get more exhausted as the day goes on--well, he feels brighter and lighter than he ever has before by the time they get to the Fat Lady, Remus is still clinging to James’s shoulders.

(“How come _I_ don’t get a piggyback ride?” Peter complains as James shouts out the password, only to get flicked in the head by Sirius, who’s still looking at Remus, and thinking that he looks too pale and glassy-eyed for his own good.)

***

By dinnertime, Remus feels sick and achy enough that he closes up his book, wipes a hand across his forehead, and says, “I think I need to head to the infirmary.”

Peter, who had been very excited for dinner (he especially loved the German pretzel rolls that were served on weekends), asks with a sigh in his throat, “Do you need anyone to go with you?”

Remus opens his mouth to say that no, he doesn’t, but Sirius quickly abandons his game of Exploding Snap with James to hop up and say, “I’ll take you!”

“I really don’t need--” Remus says, but Sirius just shakes his head.

“You don’t look so good,” he says. “And what sort of friend would I be, if I let you go alone? Someone has to come with you, and James and Peter are probably hungry. C’mon, then.”

Remus sighs, and unsteadily gets to his feet, trying to ignore the shooting pains that lance through his heels. Sirius eyes him, and seems tempted to offer another piggyback ride, so Remus quickly says, “I can walk, I swear, let’s just go.”

“All right,” Sirius says, but puts a hand on Remus’s lower back as they head toward the portrait hole.

It swings open before they get there, though, and reveals Lily standing there with two other girls--Marlene McKinnon and Mary MacDonald, though Remus can’t begin to guess which is which. Lily smiles as soon as she sees Remus, but it quickly drops as she takes in his pale face, and the way that Sirius is hovering at his shoulder.

“Are you feeling okay, Remus?” Lily asks, as the girls climb through. “D’you need to see Madam Pomfrey, perhaps? Maybe I should get a prefect--”

“It’s fine, Lily, but thank you,” Remus says. “Sirius is already coming with me to the infirmary, but. I appreciate it.”

She frowns, but pats him on the shoulder. “Oh, all right. Just… let me know if there’s anything I can do. If you’re not in class tomorrow, I can lend you my notes--oh, and have you finished _The Hobbit_ yet? I can lend you _The Fellowship of the Ring_ when you’re ready, it’s really good.”

“Thanks, Lily,” Remus says again, and smiles at her. She smiles back at him, and tucks her fiery red hair behind her ear before she runs off to catch up with Marlene and Mary, who are standing near the girls’ dormitory staircase, waiting for her.

“I don’t understand why you’re friends with such a swot,” Sirius mutters under his breath, as they exit the common room and walk slowly towards the nearest staircase. Sirius pretends not to notice Remus limping, which Remus appreciates.

“I don’t know how you can label someone you hardly know.”

“She knew _all_ the answers when Slughorn asked her, and kept her hand up for several besides,” Sirius counters. “Plus she actually bothered to take notes in History of Magic! She’s got to be a swot, and it’s _boring._ ”

“I knew some answers when Professor Highmore asked me, in Defense,” Remus says diplomatically, but Sirius just grins and rubs his knuckles through Remus’s hair as they reach the second-floor landing.

“Yeah, but we’ll get all the swot out of you,” Sirius promises. “Consider it a pet project.”

“I’d love to see you try,” Remus says, and raises his eyes to meet Sirius’s quickly before looking away.

“Try _and_ succeed, darling,” Sirius says, and Remus’s cheeks erupt into a blush. He ducks his head to hide it, but Sirius laughs anyway, making Remus’s stomach twist pleasantly at the sound.

***

After Sirius drops Remus off at the infirmary--which includes several back slaps, and some awkward flirting with the nurse, Madam Pomfrey, who is unamused and quickly chases him out as a result--Pomfrey smiles gently at Remus, and leads him to the nearest cot, screened in with a privacy curtain and several muffling charms.

Remus climbs onto the bed, wincing at the pain in his legs, and Pomfrey clucks her tongue at the sight. She’s a pretty woman, likely in her early to mid-forties; her strawberry blonde hair was already streaked with a good deal of grey, and crow’s feet and laughter lines were starting to fold themselves into her skin. Still, her face was youthful and largely smooth, with a rosy complexion and kind blue eyes that she squints as she observes Remus.

She opens the nightstand next to Remus’s cot, and pulls out a dinner plate. With a tap of her wand against the side of it, it fills up with roast beef, mashed potatoes, and a pile of buttered peas. She hands the plate over to Remus, and conjures up a fork for him as well.

“You’ll want to eat,” she says. “The full moon isn’t for the next few hours, and I don’t want you going to the boathouse on an empty stomach.”

Remus nods. McGonagall had whisked him aside, the same night as the Sorting, to talk to him about the plans for full moons while Remus was at Hogwarts. Apparently, Dumbledore had planted a Whomping Willow tree this year, as a means to conceal a newly-dug tunnel that led to an old, unused boathouse that sat on the Black Lake, somewhat near the Forbidden Forest. It was far away enough that Remus wasn’t worried about his Siren singing projecting all the way to the castle, and McGonagall had assured him that several restricting charms were placed on the house, so that Remus wouldn’t be able to leave it once the moon rose.

“I’ll be quite honest--I’ve never dealt with someone who has--your condition, before,” Pomfrey adds, biting her lip. “And there isn’t much information I could find in medical texts. I know you’ll likely be exhausted after tonight, and I’m anticipating some sort of vocal strain--but is there anything else I should look out for?”

“My legs hurt,” Remus says, scooping up some peas with his fork, “Before, and, er, especially after. And yeah, I usually can’t speak for a day or two afterward.”

He hesitates, and then adds, “My mum--sometimes she scratches at her throat. She’s got a nasty scar now on her jaw, but. I haven’t had that happen to me yet, so.”

Pomfrey nods thoughtfully. “I’ll lead you down about twenty minutes before moonrise,” she says. “And I’ll come to collect you as soon as the moon sets. Your professors are already aware that you’ll miss at least next morning’s lessons, so no need to worry about that, love.”

Remus nods, and moves on to his mashed potatoes. “Is there really no information on sirens?”

“There’s some,” Pomfrey says. “But it’s mostly about how to avoid a Siren’s call, or myths originating from Ancient Greece. It seems that the Ministry only knows that Sirens carry Fae magic, are loosely related to both Veela and Selkies, and--well, actually, that’s about it.”

“Mum used to say that for being predators, Sirens are kind of reclusive,” Remus says. “I always wondered why she chose my dad, of all people.”

“Love is love,” Pomfrey says. “It doesn’t have to make sense. Sometimes it just _is._ ”

She gives him another gentle smile, and Remus quietly returns it, eyes still fixed on the plate of food in front of him.

Pomfrey checks her watch, and reaches into her robes to pull out a small clipboard with a timetable written on it.

“I’ve got some other patients to attend to,” she says, “but I’ll see you in an hour or so, okay, Mr. Lupin?”

“Yeah,” Remus says. “Oh, and thank you, by the way.”

Pomfrey just tuts, and says, “It’s my job, Mr. Lupin. But I assure you--I’m happy to help, however I can.”

And with that, she steps back through the privacy curtain, letting it fall back closed behind her. Remus chewed another bite of his food, and sits back on the cot.

What Pomfrey had said, about the lack of information about Sirens--it made Remus wonder. What else was there to know about Sirens? Or about Old Magic, in general? His mum had always emphasized the difference between Old Magic and the magic that wizards used, that made up what she’d called their ‘magical cores’. 

Remus decides that, as soon as he feels well enough, he’ll hit the library and dig up the information himself, and send his mum a letter, too. The differences, and how they melded together in his body, making him _both_ a wizard and a Siren--it's important to know.

And, moreover, he _wants_ to know. More than anything, really.

***

True to her word, Pomfrey returns to Remus’s cot about half an hour before moonrise. Remus can feel it all the way down to his bones by now, making his blood buzz uncomfortably and his stomach and intestines twist together and apart in a sickening kind of dance.

Pomfrey notices how pale and sweaty he’s gotten, and offers him a vial of pain potion from inside her robes. Remus uncorks it and drains it quickly, and finds himself able to stand, albeit a bit wobbly, on his feet once more.

Pomfrey leads Remus out of a side door, and down a small hill, at which the Whomping Willow sat at its base. Quickly, she zig-zags right to the trunk, and presses at one of its knots. The Willow freezes immediately, and Pomfrey gestures at Remus to join her.

As Remus approaches the Whomping Willow trunk, he notices that a sort of opening has knitted itself out of the roots of the tree, big enough for Remus and Pomfrey to enter, provided they go single-file. Pomfrey drops herself into it first, and holds out her hand for Remus to do the same.

The tunnel, though small and somewhat claustrophobic, was also very warm and dry. Pomfrey casts a lighting spell with her wand, and leads Remus about twenty or thirty feet through the tunnel, which curves and twists as they walk. It’s tall enough that Pomfrey can stand up straight inside of it, and the floor is dotted with flat rocks and pebbles, probably to make it easier to walk through.

The ceiling of the tunnel is nothing but packed dirt and clay. As they keep going, Remus realizes that it’s grown darker and cooler all around them. A drop of water splashes onto Remus’s forehead. They must be close to the lake then, which was good--from his own internal clock, he can tell that there’s about fifteen minutes left before the moon hoists itself into the sky.

Sure enough, Pomfrey stops, and points her wand at the ceiling. A trap door, which Remus hadn’t noticed, pops open above them, and a rope ladder falls down right in front of them. Pomfrey turns to Remus, and says, “This is where I leave you. Stay safe, and let me know if there’s anything that doesn’t work for you, this time. You’re meant to be comfortable, dear.”

Remus nods, and grabs hold of the ladder. “Thank you for everything.”

“Of course, dear," she says, and turns around to head back down the tunnel.

Remus takes a deep breath, and climbs up the rope ladder. At the top, he pulls it back up, and shuts the trap door. He knows it’s probably his imagination, but he swears he can feel a sealing spell encase the trap door as soon as it's shut.

He looks around the boathouse. It was a cheap, shabby-looking building--only one room, with a large section of the plywood floor cut out, replaced by the lake water that sat underneath. The far wall, next to the lake water, is actually just a shut and bolted gate. All the windows are boarded up, and Remus knows that the front door of the boathouse is locked as well.

Still--surely Remus could just dive underneath the water, and escape that way?

Well, there was only one way to find out--and better to do it before the moon had fully risen.

Remus quickly changes out of his school clothes, leaving them as a mound in the corner. Then he dives into the water, keeping his eyes wide open so they can adjust to the darkness of the water faster.

Too quick, and with too much force, his legs mash themselves together, twisting and writhing as all his bones rearrange themselves. Remus digs his fingers into his palms and tenses his jaw so he doesn’t try and cry out underwater. There’s a tight, sharp kind of itching erupting from his skin, and he knows it’s his scales growing in angrily, causing needle-sharp pin pricks all over.

It’s over in about a minute or so, though, leaving him with an aching kind of relief that comes as a sharp contrast to agony. Remus comes up for a breath of air, and dives back down again, swimming to the edge of the boathouse, where there shouldn’t be any barrier. 

Except there is. As soon as he reaches the perimeter, he hits up against some sort of force field. It feels like a heavy wind, constantly trying to blow him back into the small section of water underneath the boathouse.

Good--that means there's no way for him to escape, even when he's in the middle of his moon trance. 

Remus resurfaces in the boathouse once more, and leans his arm against the floor. The moon's coming up in less than five minutes. 

He flicks his tail experimentally. His tail was much less beautiful than his mum’s--hers is a deep purple, with gold flecks in each one of her scales, so it shimmers and dances when touched by moonlight. His tail, in contrast, usually matches the seawater off the coast of their little cottage. His mum says that his coloring was much more natural--it helps with camouflage, apparently.

Against the dark water of Black Lake, his tail looks much more luminous than usual. He almost finds himself liking it--the way his delicate fins cut through the still water, and how bright the blue was in comparison to the opaque lake water underneath him.

Remus swishes his tail back and forth, watching it glow and smiling quietly, and he waits for the moon to rise on his first-ever Sunday at Hogwarts.


	6. YEAR ONE: Letters to Home and Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's ignore plot in favor of exposition folks!!!!
> 
> honestly i wasn't planning on writing a full year-to-year story, but that's what this is turning into.
> 
> oh well we're in this deep i guess

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_Sorry it took me so long to sit down and write down a proper letter since I sent the note about being sorted into Gryffindor--I’ve been busy trying to get the hang of my classes. Plus, I’ve even made a few friends._

_They’re my dorm mates--James, Peter, and Sirius. I also made friends with a girl named Lily, who I met on the train and also got sorted into Gryffindor. They’re all really nice, and I’m a bit nervous about messing anything up with them. I’ve never really had friends like them before._

_Dad, I don’t know if you know about the Potters or the Blacks, but James is a Potter, and Sirius is a Black. Peter’s last name is Pettigrew, but he’s said that his family isn’t ancient, or anything. Lily’s a Muggleborn, which apparently means she’s got no blood status at all. But I didn’t even know that was a proper_ thing, _until you told me about it this summer. Luckily, my friends don't put any stock in it, but I'm still surprised by the people who do._

_Anyway, I’m writing about it because Sirius says his family’s known for being kind of dark. But apparently they also had this streak of being sorted into Slytherin for hundreds of years, and Sirius has already broken that by being a Gryffindor. And he’s already best mates with James, even though apparently Potters are known as 'blood traitors' (James was proud of that one, when he told me). So don’t worry about Sirius--he’s nice, I think, but also kind of lonely. I get that, though._

_The full moon was fine, by the way! I’m actually writing from the infirmary right now. Madam Pomfrey (she’s the nurse) wants to try a few potions on me to get my voice back and everything, so she’s keeping me in hospital for the day, but I’ll be good to go by tomorrow. They put me in a boathouse with some perimeter charms, so I could swim around, but I couldn't get loose during my moon trance or anything. It worked well. I hope yours was okay, too, Mum--I know the last one was sort of rough for you._

_Actually, on the subject of that, I wanted to ask you, Mum, if there was anything you could tell me about the history of Sirens, or anything? I know a lot of the culture/history has been a ‘wait til you’re older’ kind of thing, but I asked Pomfrey about her knowledge of Sirens, and she didn’t seem to know much at all. She said readings on them were pretty vague, and mostly on how to avoid getting caught by a Siren’s song. It seems wizards are scared of them, but I bet they’ve had loads of nice conversations with a Siren and the Siren was just on two legs at the time, so they didn’t know._

_Anyway, it just got me curious, and Dad, if you know anything too, I’d love some books or information. Both of you’ve called Sirens ‘Old Magic,’ but would that make wizards new magic, or would it be something else? History of Magic is already boring (was it taught by a ghost when you went to Hogwarts, too, Dad?), and it’s more focused on politics than anything else._

_I’m planning to hit the library about all of this, too--it seems fascinating, that there’d be so many details about how magic works among different beings, and it’s odd that wizards are so focused on themselves when everything’s said and done._

_Anyway, I hope that you’re doing good at the cottage without me. Oh, Sirius had some of your saltwater taffy, Mum, and he absolutely adored it--he says if his mum tried anything like that, it’d just turn out ‘bitter and withered’. I don’t know if that’s more about her cooking or just how she is as a person, but he’s very fond of you, now._

_I’ve been good about limiting eye contact and I haven’t compelled anyone, I promise. I think it’s going really well, honestly--I’m excited about most of my classes, and I do really like my friends, so far._

_Love you both so much!_

_Remus_

***

Remus finishes up his letter home, and is in the process of folding it up and stuffing it into the pocket of his pajamas when Sirius, James, and Peter burst through the infirmary hall doors and demand to see Remus.

Luckily, Remus already had had the morning to sleep, and Pomfrey had given him a pain potion for his throat, as well as two different tinctures that tasted very strongly of honey and nectar. They hadn’t done much to revitalize his throat, but had helped with the swelling anyway, which Remus had told her in a hoarse croak when she’d checked up on him.

So he's got the energy to deal with them, but still, when James, Sirius, and Peter yank back the privacy curtain and ask, eagerly, how he’s feeling, he has to tap his throat and make a little “x” motion with his hands. 

James and Peter draw back a little at that, but Sirius only frowns and comes closer, dropping into the stool next to his cot. “Are you all right? Is it contagious?”

Remus grabs the parchment and quill that Pomfrey had left by his bedside, and scrawls quickly, _It’s not contagious, don’t worry! I’m pretty prone to throat infections. I could probably be out by now, but Madam Pomfrey wants to see if she can mix up a remedy that’ll get my voice back faster._

“That’s good,” Sirius says, smiling at him. Peter, obviously reassured that he won’t suddenly come down with anything, also steps forward and drops a chocolate frog onto Remus’s cot.

“My mum always gives them to me when I’m sick, and it helps,” he says, blushing. Remus beams at him, and quickly unwraps it, biting off its head.

 _You’re the best, Pete,_ he writes, accidentally smearing the body of his quill with chocolate. He snorts at himself, and licks his thumb to clean it off.

“You missed a godawful Potions lesson this morning,” James says, screwing up his face and plopping himself down at the foot of Remus’s bed. “I know it’s still early days, but I swear, Snape is going to drive me up the _wall._ ”

At Remus’s questioning glance, Sirius elaborates, “He made fun of James for stirring his Strength Potion wrong. And then Slughorn took off points, but for _James,_ because apparently James should know better since his dad’s so famous for potions.”

Remus frowns, and writes out, _Your dad’s famous for potions?_

“It’s, er, a hair potion,” James says evasively.

Remus stares at him.

“To make untameable hair tameable. It’s called Sleekeazy’s, and it made him a bunch of money,” James adds, looking very pained as he pushes a hand through his very unruly, messy hair.

Remus can’t help the croaking breath of a laugh that he lets out at that, and Sirius joins in enthusiastically. Peter, watching the two of them crack up, also lets out a bit of a giggle, too.

“It doesn’t work well for him, either!” James defends. “Also, how am I supposed to know how to do potions just because my dad’s good at _one_ of them?”

Remus shrugs, and Sirius says, “Yeah, well, Snape’s a knobhead, clearly. And so’s Slughorn, so I’m glad I wasn’t a Slytherin after all.”

Remus frowns, and writes something down on his parchment. All of them look over when they hear the scratching of his nib on the paper, and Sirius’s eyes widen in excitement when he reads what Remus has written: _How are you going to get them back?_

“Our little swot, embracing the life of vengeance and treachery? Why, I _never_ thought to see the day!” 

Remus rolls his eyes. _You’ve known me less than a week. And Snape’s very annoying. And he cost us house points._

“Remus is right,” James says, nodding solemnly. “This means war.”

 _I wasn’t even there, I don’t think it’s that bad,_ Remus hurriedly writes, and taps his quill against the paper for emphasis.

“War,” Sirius intones anyway. “I like it.”

“What would we do, though?” Peter asks, his face scrunching up. “Ruin one of his potions?”

“It’s got to be more than that,” James says, shaking his head. “And it’s got to be good. Not just a jinx or whatever.”

_You want to pull a prank on him?_

“Precisely!” James says, pointing at Remus. 

_I feel like we don’t want to get carried away. Punishment fitting the crime and all,_ Remus writes, biting at his lip.

“Hey, it was your idea,” Sirius points out, leaning forward on his elbows. “Besides, is there a big enough punishment for being an arsehole?”

Remus sighs through his nose--even though it had been his idea, he’d really just thought they’d drop a wrong ingredient or two into Snape’s potion without looking, like Peter had said. But the spark in James and Sirius’s eyes, as well as the way Sirius was rubbing his hands together, meant that this was going to take a lot more time--and energy--than Remus had expected.

Still, it’s not like Remus wants to get left out. And looking at how Peter is nervously laughing with Sirius and James, and nodding along to everything they say, he’s not the only one.

So, Remus writes out, _I wanted to go to the library anyway. I can pick up some books on hexes and jinxes and see where we can go from there?_

“Perfect!” Sirius crows. “Snape will never know what hit him, when he decided to mess with the four of us.”

Remus only rolls his eyes, but with the appreciative, enthusiastic way Sirius slaps Remus’s back in appreciation, he knows that he’s made the right choice.

***

Remus is so busy with catching up on schoolwork, and getting used to all his classes, that he doesn’t actually have time to go to the library before his parents write him back.

Their letter comes during breakfast on Thursday, attached to the same Hogwarts owl that Remus had used to send his own letter. In addition to the parchment tied to its leg, the owl also carries an aluminum sweet tin between its claws. 

Remus pets it in appreciation, and feeds it some of his sausages. Today, he’s sitting by Lily--James and Sirius had headed down to the Quidditch pitch already, hoping to get some extra flying in before their lesson in the afternoon, and Peter had followed to watch--and he pops open the tin as soon as the owl flies away, offering her some of the toffee and salted caramel inside.

She takes a piece of caramel and pops it into her mouth. “This is wonderful, Remus! Your mum must be great at cooking.”

“She’s all right,” Remus says, clutching his parents’ letter in his hands. It’s wrapped in a battered envelope, with one of his dad’s wax seals that he usually saves for work. Remus breaks the seal with his fingers eagerly, pulling out the thick pages of parchment folded up inside.

“D’you want some privacy?” Lily asks, sucking on her sugar-covered fingers. “My sister sent me a nasty letter on Monday, so I get it if you don’t want someone at your shoulder…”

Remus almost says it’s fine, before he realizes that it probably mentions Sirens, and moon trances, and compulsion magic--all of the things he didn’t want people to know about. So Remus stuffs the letter into the envelope again, grabs his bookbag and the sweet tin, and checks his wristwatch--he’s still got twenty minutes before he has to head down to the greenhouses for Herbology, so he could definitely get through their letter in time.

“You're probably right, Lily. I think I might go somewhere private to read,” Remus says, nodding at Lily. “I’m sure it doesn’t say anything bad--sorry about your sister, by the way--but. You know. Embarrassing mum stuff.”

Lily smiles at him, and says, “I’ll save you a seat in Herbology?”

“You don’t want to pair up with Georgia Kincaid again?” 

“She’s nice and everything,” Lily says, “but last Herbology lesson she spilled bubotuber pus down my leg. Besides, you’re always with Potter, Black, and Pettigrew--I want you to myself for at least one class, Remus.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Remus says, only feeling slightly guilty that he would be leaving Peter out to dry. He could maybe pair up with Georgia--she’s pretty enough, with her brunette hair and teak-colored skin, even if she’s also a bit clumsy. If anything, Peter would think that Remus is doing him a favor.

So with that, and another sweet offered to Lily (she takes some toffee this time), Remus heads out of the Great Hall. He stands right outside the entrance for a moment, surveying possible areas where he could read the letter alone. Gryffindor Tower was too far away for him to get there and then to the greenhouses comfortably, and the library was two floors above him. 

Remus idly wishes he had some sort of map, to help him out with finding a good nook or broom cupboard. But he shelves the idea quickly, not having the time to ponder it. He decides to head out of the front doors, figuring he could find someplace outside that didn’t have anyone else around.

It’s a nice enough day outside, if a bit overcast and grey. A few students are sitting in the rocking chairs underneath the arched roof of the entrance porch, but Remus heads down the main staircase instead. It eventually slopes around to the train station that sat on the right, distant enough that it looked like a miniature model. The Black Lake spreads out to his left, before it hugs tight against the Forbidden Forest. The lawn, bright green and saturated in the dim overcast lighting, rolls down to meet the lake, and seems to stretch boundlessly towards the horizon. 

Remus steps off the stairs after he’s climbed a fair ways down, and walks across the lawn until he finds a comfortable looking spot. He settles in, looking around until he can find the greenhouses--luckily they’re visible from his eyeline, and not too distant. He checks his watch, and he still has twelve minutes left before he really has to get going. He pulls out his parent’s letter again, smoothing it against his folded-up knees, and begins to read.

***

_Dear Remus,_

_First off, I’d like you to make sure that you’re alone when you read this. I’m sure you were careful about writing your letter without anyone around, but still. It’s important for your safety._

_Your dad and I are so glad that you’re enjoying school, and that you’ve made some friends! I know that you’ve been lonely, growing up on the shore, sometimes--unfortunately, there was no helping that, but I’m glad you’ve got some friends to help with that, now._

_Your dad says that he knows about the Potters and the Blacks. He says the Potters are a good sort, and that he sometimes crossed paths with your friend James’s dad at the Ministry, and he was always a kind, respectful man. He had… less pleasant things to say about the Blacks, but that it’s bad to judge someone based on their bloodline. After all, if he’d done that with me, we would’ve never gotten together!_

_He also says not to worry too much about bloodlines. Wizards are awfully strange about that sort of thing, in my opinion. Apparently there’s a whole conflict brewing about it, but you’re safe at Hogwarts. It’s the safest place in the Wizarding World, according to your dad and your headmaster, and I don’t see why they’d lie about that._

_I’m glad the full moon was all right for you, love. I was nervous about it going wrong, seeing as it would be your first without me, but I’m glad they took care of you, and that you were comfortable with the arrangements. Mine was also fine. Your dad took care of me as always, but I did miss snuggling up with you afterward. I know you’re getting a bit old for that, but taking naps after moon trances with you are still some of my best memories._

_As for information about Our Kind--I’m not surprised that there’s not much information out there about it. Your dad didn’t know much about Sirens when we first got together, and he was one of the best in his Ministry department, which focused exclusively on magical creatures. Your dad also says there’s not much accurate information about nymphs, either, or even vampires or Veela, both of which are much more commonly encountered outside of a dangerous context. My theory is that wizards are uncomfortable with any sort of magical creature that possesses a similar intelligence to themselves--they even look down on Muggles, who are essentially the same species as them, after all._

_(Not to insult your father, or your friends at Hogwarts, dear; but I feel that this sort of prejudice can be tied to the blood status issue you were speaking about, and it does make me feel a bit off, at times. Your dad’s never expressed that same sort of thought, though, and I’m sure your friends are lovely, as well.)_

_I couldn’t possibly tell you everything I know about Sirens in one letter. My hand’s already starting to ache, writing this much. But I can tell you that the Ancient Greek myths involving Sirens are much more accurate than you’d think. Other than their physical depictions of us (which are rather more like birds, for some reason), the descriptions of the enchanting spells are very close to how it actually works. Gaelic myths about the Fae Folk as well, specifically the Celtic Otherworld, can shed some light on the more mystical aspects of our magic._

_But this magic, of course, is somewhat soul-powered; like I said, I have minor control over the tides, as well as sonar magic, without any souls. With them, Sirens become infinitely more powerful, like I told you--this isn’t a good thing, because it also causes death, which can warp and eventually corrupt a magical being. Sirens aren’t inherently evil, but the elder in my clan had been alive for centuries. By the time I was born, she was only interested in souls. She’d eschewed any other aspect of life in pursuit of more power, which in turn caused more killing. There's a reason why I left my family behind, even before I married your dad._

_Your unique blend of an inherent magical core, as well as ties to Old Magic, could mean you have more access to the sort of enchantments I could never wield, however. For instance, compulsion magic is normally a rare gift for Sirens, but you can use it very easily (by the way, I’m glad you haven’t, while at Hogwarts--your father and I are very proud, keep up the good work!). I wouldn’t encourage you to explore Siren enchantments too deeply, but if you cause something odd, or not normal by wizarding standards, it could be a facet of your unique biology. Something to keep in mind._

_As far as suggested books go, your dad doesn’t have any in particular. He says that magical creatures and beings are often misrepresented, and he especially learned that after he met me--I suppose that’s his way of flirting, but it’s also true. He said he’d try and read up if he could, but in the meantime, you should see if Newt Scamander has written anything on Sirens. That, he says, should be the most accurate and objective reading you could possibly get._

_I have to go for now, dear--my hand really has started to hurt something fierce, and I promised your father we could go to town to that restaurant he loves, tonight. We both love you so much, and your father’s so proud of you being a Gryffindor (he’s even reading over my shoulder right now, insisting that I add that he always knew you were brave, smart, and special; he’s a right sap, he is). We miss you, but we’re also so glad you’re enjoying Hogwarts. You deserve it!_

_With all our love,_

_Mum and Dad_

_P.S. I had some time before I sent the letter back, so I baked some treats this morning. Hopefully your friend Sirius likes them just as much as the last batch!_

***

Remus chews at his lip, as he folds the letter back up, this time shoving it into a pocket of his bookbag. It contained both more and less information than he’d hoped; his mum’s frank discussion of Siren powers, as well as her suggestions on old myths, were good places for him to start researching. He also has a specific research topic in mind, now, too: Siren enchantments. 

Because Remus is good at following his parents’ advice--he’s never known them to suggest something unreasonable, or something that didn’t make sense. But if Remus has got the power for stronger Siren enchantments, like his mum had said-well, it’s his responsibility to understand what that _means,_ so that he doesn’t accidentally wield them. To understand something completely also means that you could _prevent_ it completely, in Remus’s opinion.

His dad’s suggestion on Scamander is helpful, as well, but he’d hoped for more information from the Wizarding World than there was. It seemed outrageous to him, like his mum said, that all wizards were only focused on wizarding magic. It seemed shortsighted, to say the least, that wizards didn’t talk about the origin of magic, or how they got their powers, or even the inner mechanics of a magical core.

Well, that just meant that Remus would have to figure it out himself. Scamander was definitely a good place to start with that, as well as some older history texts than Professor Binns used--and there had to be at least _some,_ in a library as big as Hogwarts’s library. And he had a vested interest in learning about it all, anyway--and seven whole years to do it.

Remus smiles to himself, and checks his watch one last time. He definitely has to start heading towards the greenhouses now, if he wants to get to the lesson without being late.

So he gets up and heads in that direction, his head full of what his mum had said in her letter--and more importantly, what she _hadn’t_ said, out of either nerves, or lack of knowledge.

It was fascinating, indeed.


	7. YEAR ONE: A Meeting with Dumbledore

Remus plans to finally hit the library Friday morning.

They have Charms first thing in the morning, and then an Astronomy theory lesson right after. But then the next hour is set aside for studying, so Remus could slip away to the library without anyone questioning it. 

Sirius is happy about this plan, of course--when Remus tells him, he even offers to come with, because he thinks that Remus is finally going to research the upcoming prank on Snape. But Remus quickly says that he’s also planning to check out a few books on Transfiguration, and Sirius quickly drops the subject, which is better for Remus, anyway--he’s first and foremost planning a research session for Sirens, and having Sirius’s company, as great as it is, would only be more complicated than anything else.

But his plans quickly get foiled, as he gets a letter dropped into his lap, the second in two days.

It’s written on paper scented with lavender oil, and when Remus opens it, he reads:

_ Dear Mr. Lupin, _

_ I am glad to see that you’ve been enjoying your first weeks at Hogwarts, and that you’ve made some good friends.  _

_ I was hoping to meet with you sometime this month, and a vacancy has recently opened in my schedule for today at 11:00 a.m. I apologize for the short notice, but if you’re amenable, I’d like to invite you to my study for tea. I’ll meet you on the second floor, in the Gargoyle Corridor, if you’re able to make it. _

_ Please send your response on the back of this letter. I hope to see you soon. _

_ Albus Dumbledore _

  
  


Remus stares a bit in shock at the letter. Sure, Dumbledore had shown up at his parents’ cottage to persuade him to go to Hogwarts, but keeping tabs? Wanting meetings? Remus hadn’t expected  _ that. _

“Who’s the letter from?” James asks curiously, around a mouthful of oatmeal.

Remus bites at his lip, and then digs through his book bag to pull out a quill. 

“Just McGonagall,” he says, as he writes his response down onto the parchment (that of course he’d love tea, and he was quite amenable indeed to meeting today). He reattaches the letter to the owl, which hoots softly and takes wing, flying out of the open windows of the Great Hall. It must be under strict instructions to perform some evasive maneuvers before circling back to Dumbledore--Remus finds himself appreciating such discretion. After all, he hadn’t told James that he’s meeting with the headmaster, because he’s sure that it would raise some suspicion.

“What’d she want?” Sirius asks, picking up a sausage link with his fork.

“It’s an offer to come to her office today during the study period for tutoring,” Remus says, almost surprising himself with how easily the lie comes. “Since I missed Monday’s lesson, and all.”

“But I thought you were finally going to the library to research Snivellus’s prank,” Sirius says, sticking out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout.

“I can always do that after lunch,” Remus says, shrugging. “And I already said yes.”

“Swot,” Sirius says, but smiles at Remus, anyway. “Just for that, you’d better produce some good research results.”

“You know I will,” Remus responds, and helps himself to some hash browns before anyone can ask him any more questions.

***

The Charms lesson goes okay--they’re focusing on wand-lighting and extinguishing, and Remus finds it pretty easy. Peter struggles a bit, but he’s managed to get a dim light going by the end of the lesson. James and Sirius already know the charm, so they spend their time trying to blind each other by seeing how bright they can make their lights. Flitwick has to tell them to cut it out, and eventually docks ten points from Gryffindor. Remus has a feeling that that sort of thing is going to be a regular occurrence.

In Astronomy, Professor Sterling quizzes them on the names of planets, as well as the twelve constellations that make up the Zodiac. It turns out that Remus is a Pisces, which he finds particularly amusing, considering that that meant his sign was literally a fish. James is an Aries, which made sense, and Sirius is a Scorpio, which James makes fun of him for.

“I did think that you look particularly insectlike,” he says, causing Sirius to scowl and mutter, “Scorpions are actually arachnids, you dolt.”

Finally, they’re released for their study period. James, Sirius and Peter all elect to head to the common room, claiming that they’re going to study the star charts that Professor Sterling handed out. Remus suspects that they plan to play Exploding Snap until lunch.

He leaves them at the base of the Astronomy Tower, thankful that the Gargoyle Corridor and the library are in the same general direction. 

***

When he finally gets to the corridor, Dumbledore’s already standing there, next to one of the large, black statues. He smiles genially at Remus, his eyes twinkling over his half-moon spectacles. Remus finds himself smiling back without thinking. As soon as he's next to Dumbledore, he pulls out a wrapped piece of candy from his purple robe sleeve.

“It’s that cinnamon hard candy I believe that you liked so much,” he says with a wink, and Remus takes it gratefully, ripping off the wrapper and popping it into his mouth right away. 

“Thanks,” he says, a bit slurred around the candy disk.

“Of course,” Dumbledore says kindly, and then turns back to the statues. “Cadbury button,” he says to one of the gargoyles.

The statues begin to spin, slowly, and panels of the wall behind them move, too. Remus’s eyes widen as they move outward, revealing twin spiralling staircases.

“Wicked,” Remus breathes out, and Dumbledore chuckles.

“It’s one of the secret passages of Hogwarts,” he says, tapping the side of his nose. “And the main entrance to my office. Now, after you.”

Remus climbs up the right staircase (it meets up with the left staircase at the landing, rather like a wishbone), and finds himself in a large, comfortable circular room. It’s surrounded by towering bookshelves crammed with books and odd wizarding artifacts, and at the back of the room sits a claw-footed, dark wooden desk. Dumbledore passes Remus to head for the desk and the high-backed, plush chair behind it.

He taps his wand against the side of the desk, and conjures a similar, albeit smaller, chair on the opposite side of the desk.

“Please have a seat, Mr. Lupin,” Dumbledore says warmly, and Remus acquiesces, sitting down and feeling himself almost sink into the chair cushion. 

With another tap of his wand, Dumbledore conjures a fancy-looking, copper-plated tea set. He pours a cup for both Remus and himself, which Remus takes carefully, along with two sugar cubes.

“I like sugar in my tea as well,” Dumbledore says, dropping four cubes into his own. “I’ve always had a bit of a sweet tooth, really. I’m lucky I’m not a Muggle--the cavities I’d get would be horrendous.”

Remus takes a polite sip of his tea, and then decides to ask, “Why am I here, sir?”

“Ah, straight to the point. How I wish the Ministry were like you,” Dumbledore says, smiling at him. He adds a dash of milk to his own tea, and hums thoughtfully. “If I told you I was simply curious about how you were fitting in, considering your unique situation and biology, would that suffice as an answer for you?”

Remus bites his lip, but he assumes Dumbledore would like the truth--he  _ had  _ praised Remus for his boldness, after all. “Not really, Professor.”

“And why not?”

“Because that sort of thing you could learn from my professors,” Remus says. “Or even just asking me to write you a letter. A meeting suggests there’s something… else, that you’d like to talk about with me. Something deeper.”

Dumbledore nods, his eyes twinkling. He tugs at his long, white beard, and says, “Very astute, Mr. Lupin. But I will say, I  _ am  _ interested in hearing, in your own words, how Hogwarts has been for you. Then we can get to the crux of the matter, I promise.”

“It’s fantastic,” Remus says honestly. “There’s a lot to learn, and I’m not that great at flying, or potions, for that matter--but all of it’s brilliant. Thank you so much for letting me come here, sir, really.”

“No need to thank me at all,” Dumbledore says. “I believe every child has a right to an education, and you’re a bright, powerful wizard, Mr. Lupin. Hogwarts is better for having you in its number.”

Remus blushes, and looks down at his lap.

“And I’ve noticed you’ve made some friends,” Dumbledore prompts, after a moment.

“James and Sirius are really great,” Remus says. “And Lily’s been good for when I want to talk about Muggle books, and she’s really good at school, too. Oh, and Peter’s nice, too.”

“I’m very glad that you’ve found everything to your liking,” Dumbledore says. “You know, I was a Gryffindor myself, when I was younger. Still am, I suppose--once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor, as they say.”

“Were you really, Professor?” Remus asks, glancing up and beaming at the headmaster. His heart flutters at the thought that he has something in common with  _ Dumbledore, _ famed for his wisdom and power.

“Oh, yes,” Dumbledore says, his eyes growing distant and buttery with an onslaught of memories. He clears his throat, and then takes another sip of tea. “And I can tell that you’re a true Gryffindor, through and through--the Hat certainly didn’t lie about that.”

“That’s kind of you to say, sir.”

“I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true,” Dumbledore says, and then sets his cup into its saucer. 

Remus, sensing a lull in the conversation, shifts slightly in his seat and then leans forward. “Pardon my asking, sir, but are we here because you want to know more about Sirens? My mum and dad say that information on them--us--is scarce. I don’t know much yet, if I’m being honest.”

“Partly, yes,” Dumbledore acknowledges, pursing his lips,“but I promise you this isn’t an interrogation. I am aware of the lack of good, public information on Sirens and similar magical beings, but I also understand that some of these gaps are actually managed carefully for their own protections.”

“My mum didn’t say anything about  _ that _ ,” Remus says, scrunching up his nose.

“From what I understand, she left Siren clans behind soon after reaching her age of maturity,” Dumbledore says. “While she knows a great deal about Sirens and Siren culture, the intricacies of politics and privacy policies may have been of little interest to her before her departure.”

“So you know about my mum, then,” Remus says, frowning. “More than what my dad’s told you. Because he doesn’t tell  _ anybody _ anything about my mum, if he can help it.” Mostly because he hasn’t  _ got  _ anyone to tell, but he’s also impressed the importance of secrecy onto Remus from a young age.

Dumbledore’s lips twist, before settling into a more neutral position. “Once again, very astute, Mr. Lupin.”

“And you know more about Sirens than is publicly available,” Remus adds. “ Is it something withheld to only upper levels of the Ministry? Because my dad worked for it for a long time, and he even didn’t get much information about Sirens, or nymphs, or anything. What sort of clearance are we talking about?”

“Very high,” Dumbledore says. “Higher than I have any license to tell you about, really.”

“But you know about Siren clans? You’ve talked to them? Which one did my mum come from? She never talks about it, and I can’t tell if it’s because she dislikes them, or if it’s painful for her to think about.”

Dumbledore hums, and produces two more pieces of candy from his sleeve--a chocolate button for himself, and a piece of saltwater taffy for Remus. Remus accepts the taffy, pops it in his mouth, and realizes it’s green-apple flavored. Remus frowns.

“Did you read my mind to know that?” he asks, quite forgetting the subject at hand.

Dumbledore laughs, but shakes his head. “Just a lucky guess, I suppose. I know a few Sirens with an affinity for saltwater taffy. No, on the contrary, Sirens have natural protections against their mind. It’s one of several--during the Dark Ages, I’m sorry to say that many Sirens were hunted down for their magical properties. Some rather foolish wizards believed that they could alchemize gold from Sirenic blood and voice boxes, and often used forms of magic like Legilimency to identify and slay them. It’s believed that Sirens developed magical protections and blood curses to counteract these efforts.”

“So you can’t read my mind?”

“Certainly not,” Dumbledore says.

“And…” Remus’s fingers trail over the old, thick scars that bite into his shoulder. “The blood curse… that you mentioned… that would affect anyone trying to harvest blood from Sirens, right?”

“Correct,” Dumbledore says. He’s no doubt noticed Remus tugging at his own shoulder, but he says nothing about it--evidently waiting for Remus to produce the information himself.

Remus sucks in a deep breath, and considers things; because, after all, it was important to stay vigilant and not overshare, if he could help it. But surely telling Dumbledore about the incident when he was five was okay--after all, Dumbledore’s proven that he knows more about Sirens than even  _ Remus _ does, and he mentioned the blood curse without Remus saying a word about that strange, terrifying incident when he was young.

“I was bitten by a werewolf when I was four, almost five,” Remus says eventually, looking up at Dumbledore. His twinkling eyes sharpen in interest as Remus speaks. “We still have the Prophet article about his death at my house--it says he died from an unidentifiable poison. I always knew that those two things were related, but I never really thought--but my blood. It was poisonous, for that man?”

Dumbledore nods his assent. “I am very sorry that that happened to you, Mr. Lupin. But yes, that’s a very good example of how the blood curse works for those who try and attack Sirens.”

Remus sits back, and chews on his lip. There was so much he didn’t know--so much he’d never even wondered about, until this year. A bit absurdly, he feels like he’s wasted time, not learning about wizards and Sirens sooner.

“Can you tell me more?” Remus asks, eagerly. “No one ever told me about these kinds of things. I want to know more.”

“All in good time, Mr. Lupin,” Dumbledore says gently. “And some of these things are what your mother deserves to tell you, rather than myself. So let’s not dwell on the things I can’t speak on. Instead, I’d like to talk about your compulsion magic.”

“Oh,” Remus says, and stares into his cup of tea. “Er. All right.”

“I know it makes you uncomfortable,” Dumbledore says, which feels a bit like an obvious statement. “Which is why I’d like to help you with it.”

“How, Professor?” Remus asks. He still doesn’t look up.

“I’m a Legilimens,” Dumbledore says. “Since your father is an Occlumens, I assume you know somewhat of what that means?”

“It’s the opposite, right?” Remus asks. “My dad learned Occlumency so that he couldn’t be accidentally, er, compelled by me. It blocks off your mind so that people don’t have as much access to it. Like, I guess, Sirens do naturally--like you said.”

“So then, how would you describe Legilimency, Mr. Lupin?”

“It’d be having access to people’s minds,” Remus says. “Right?”

“Precisely,” Dumbledore says, nodding. “I’d like you to learn it, Mr. Lupin.”

Remus frowns. “But--ah, forgive me, Professor, but. Wouldn’t that be a bit...useless, considering the fact that I can, er, control people?”

“I don’t believe so,” Dumbledore says kindly, and takes a sip of his tea. “On the contrary, I believe it could stop you from accidental commands at all. And I assume that’s why you’ve been avoiding eye contact while at school, and I might also assume you’ve avoided demands without modifiers like ‘please’ or ‘could,’ as well.”

“I’ve been trying to manage it for school,” Remus says carefully. “I didn’t--I don’t want to accidentally hurt anyone, or anything.”

“I understand,” Dumbledore says. “And I believe you’re a bright, kindhearted young man for wanting to keep yourself in check. And I truly believe that learning Legilimency will help you manage your compulsion magic, so that you only ever use it when you mean to.”

“I’ve never meant to use it,” Remus says quickly. “I swear.”

Dumbledore just smiles at him. “In that case, this endeavor might help you out even more.”

“How so, Professor?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Dumbledore says, smiling at him. “I’m afraid the answer is a bit involved, but please sit back, and allow me to explain.”

“Of course, Professor,” Remus says politely, and grabs his cup of tea, leaning back in his seat. Dumbledore clears his throat, and fiddles idly with his wand as he thinks about what he’d like to say.

“The one thing I find lacking in a general magical education,” Dumbledore settles on, “is that not many subjects focus on the intention of the spell. Of course, for Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potions, you must have a basic understanding of the magic you’re using. But the wizard’s intention behind casting the spell is more often what determines the success of it, even above wandwork or pronunciation.

“I taught Transfiguration for some years, as your father may have told you. This, I find, is a discipline very similar to Legilimency--and a good way for me to explain a complex magical art form. You see, with Transfiguration there are a lot of factors at play, as I’m sure you’ve realized already, Mr. Lupin. It’s very difficult to get right, and a large part of that includes having accurate expectations and a clear goal in mind, in order to perform the incantation correctly.”

“So you’re saying that Legilimency is hard, and to do it, you have to know exactly what you’re looking for?” Remus clarifies.

Dumbledore taps the side of his nose. “Precisely. Very good, Mr. Lupin. Now, do you have any idea why that would be helpful for managing your compulsion spells?”

“Because…” Remus pauses for a moment, and then runs a hand through his hair. “Well, I’d be able to tell when something was altering a person’s thoughts?”

“In a way, yes,” Dumbledore says. “You see, Legilimency is predicated on the use of eye contact, similar to Sirenic compulsion magic. You’d be able to tell when those thought patterns are diverted through use of magic, such as with compulsion, or even with other enchantments like the Confundus. But more than just that--Legilimency, good Legilimency, is performed nonverbally, and with great concentration and care. I believe that in training in this area, you’ll be able to stay vigilant for compulsion magic, and also learn to control the inherent magic that comes with your compulsions.”

Remus takes a large gulp of his tea, even though it’s gone a bit cold--and anyway, he’d only done it to delay responding. It seemed... well, it seemed difficult, to say the least. And training to have the power to enter people’s minds--that was intrusive, wasn’t it? Isn’t that, and things like that, why his parents had coached him on avoiding compelling others?

But on the other hand… Dumbledore was one of the most brilliant wizards alive. His dad had said as much, and from the textbook passages and articles Remus has read about him, he’s inclined to believe it. 

So if he’s suggesting this to Remus, who was Remus to turn him down?

Almost as if in response to his ruminations (though, of course, Remus has just learned that that’s quite impossible), Dumbledore says, “The choice is yours, Mr. Lupin. I just wanted to make an adequate case for my position--after all, this would be no small undertaking. You’d have to have extra weekly lessons, and progress in this field would be frustrating at best, taking several years to yield any sort of result, I’d expect.”

Remus takes a deep breath. “When do you need an answer?”

“Any time you feel comfortable making one,” Dumbledore assures him. “I just wanted to make sure I could take the time and talk with you, about all this. I understand it may be overwhelming, but I promise that I have only your best interests in mind.”

“I know,” Remus says, and takes another sip of his tea before rubbing at the back of his neck. “Would it be all right if I wrote home to my parents?”

“I’ve already spoken with Lyall and Hope about it,” Dumbledore says, "If that's your concern. I would never wish to get a child involved in something without the parents’ permission. I actually received their answer last night--they said as long as you were comfortable with it, then it was quite all right with them.”

“Oh,” Remus says. “Good. That’s great, I didn’t mean to accuse you of--what I mean is, I didn't...”

“I know, Mr. Lupin,” Dumbledore says, and smiles at him, stroking his beard. “Again, take all the time you’d like. Of course, if you agree, then I wouldn’t be able to oversee every lesson. However, I’ve got a good friend who’s promised to teach the lessons I cannot. She’s incredibly talented in this area, and I’ve no doubt that she knows more about the subject than I ever could.”

“Thank you, sir,” Remus says, but hesitates to get up. He surreptitiously checks his watch--the study period’s over soon, but he doesn’t want to rush the end of the meeting. And he only has lunch afterward, and he can be a few minutes late without raising suspicion or concern for his friends.

“Of course, Remus,” Dumbledore says, and smiles at him, rising from his seat first. Remus nods, and rises, as well. 

Dumbledore reaches into his sleeve, and produces one last sweet for Remus--this time, it’s a chocolate button.

“Good luck with your studies, of course,” he says. “And please let me know once you’ve reached a decision. You may just send an Owl addressed to me--I’ll respond promptly, I promise.”

“Thank you so much, sir,” Remus says. “I’ll consider everything you’ve told me. And I’ll try to be--thorough, about it.”

“I know you will,” Dumbledore says. His eyes are so bright and twinkling behind his spectacles, that it’s hard not staring into them for longer than necessary.

Remus unwraps the chocolate, pops it in his mouth, and turns to head back down the stairs. Yet again, it seems, he has a lot to think about--almost too many things.

But first, there would be lunch, and then the library--though Dumbledore’s wealth of Siren knowledge had been much more than Remus had expected, and certainly more specific than his mum’s letter.

Remus found himself not for the first time, and certainly not for the last time, being very thankful for the headmaster, and everything he’s done for Remus just within the first few weeks of school.

It was kind, of him, for a lack of a better word (and indeed, Remus wouldn’t search for a better descriptor for many years to come). It made Remus trust the man implicitly, and by the time he reached the bottom of the spiralling staircase from Dumbledore’s office, he’d made a decision.

He’d learn Legilimency, and furthermore, he’d be  _ damn _ good at it. For Dumbledore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things, here:
> 
> as per my "fuck "jkr" theme (and seriously, FUCK her), I've decided to retcon events from the second Fantastic Beasts movie and involve Queenie Goldstein, as you've probably guessed. Why? Because I love her and literally nothing from the second movie makes sense, so i.e., it didn't happen.
> 
> second, I really don't like Dumbledore. Idk if that ever came across in this, but like. He's very complex, and NOT a kindly old man, but also I'm terrible at writing eleven-year-olds but the one thing I think Remus would believe is in the goodness of Dumbledore. So. Dumbledore's complexities, and faults, won't come in until much later. but I really didn't mean for this to be a "praise dumbledore lmao" session.
> 
> also also, I know it seems like I'm overpowering Remus, with the whole compulsion--Siren blood--legilimency--future Sight thing. I promise I'm not. I think. It's part of a half-assed plan, but he'll definitely Fail and shit. No good story exists without the main character failing a bit, even if none of the (good) Marauders will die.
> 
> finally, not related to this chapter at all (which was mostly a lore dump, soz), but something I just thought about: what if Remus's voice didn't sound like a human voice when he sang? Like it wasn't an awkward karoake rendition w/o music. What if it sounded like epic instrumental soundtracks, Ramin Djawadi-style, so that was why Sirens were so enticing--bc it was that otherworldly? would that be a cool idea or a flop lemme know


	8. YEAR ONE: Andromeda's Walk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: huh that was a lot of exposition about remus in the last chapter 
> 
> also me: guess we gotta balance that out with some sIRIUS EXPOSITION THEN

They’re all in the dorm, minus Remus, bored for a lack of literally anything better to do when Remus finally gets back from the library. 

They’d played a few games of Exploding Snap together, and at the moment, Peter has convinced James to go for a round of Wizard’s Chess, the both of them sitting cross-legged on Peter’s bed with the board wedged between their knees. James had offered for Sirius to alternate turns with him, but Sirius had begged off. He often finds himself impatient and losing focus during Wizard’s Chess, so instead he's currently on his stomach, hanging off the edge of his bed and flipping aimlessly through his Potions textbook instead of writing the essay that Slughorn had assigned them. 

He’s actually starting to regret not going with Remus to the library when Remus opens the door to their dorm and marches in, holding a small tower of books between his skinny arms. “Oh, good, you’re all here!”

“How’d it go?” James asks, looking up from where his pawn had begun to pummel Peter’s bishop. “Find anything good?”

“Yeah, I’ve actually got an idea,” Remus says, and dumps the books on the floor next to his bed. He grabs the top one from the stack, and joins Peter and James on Peter’s bed. Sirius slides off his bed onto the floor, and moves to get closer, leaning himself against one of Peter’s bed posters.

The book says in loopy writing at the front that it’s  _ The Encyclopedia of Additional Standard-Issue Spells, Vol. II.  _ Sirius can see that it’s got indented tabs on the side of the pages, so that you could flip to different letters, and Remus uses the “I” tab to get to an entry in that section. He skims through the section once, nods, and then flips the book around so that the rest of them can read it, too.

Sirius leans forward, and then frowns. “The ‘illegible charm’? You want him to--what? Not be able to read something?”

“Nah,” Remus says, smiling mysteriously. “I want him to not be able to read  _ anything. _ I remember the other day he was making fun of one of his Slytherin mates for not being able to read so well in Defense on Thursday, remember?”

“I wouldn’t say that guy was his mate,” James remarks. “He got all flustered and tried to hex Snape--almost took care of my job that day.”

“Yeah, well, it was cruel of him to just pick on the guy like that,” Remus says. “And we’re doing this because he made fun of you, James, in Potions. So I just thought--what if we make it so he can’t read any of his school books well, but we use modifiers so that it’s not just a sudden thing?”

“Spell modifiers?” Sirius asks, starting to warm up to the idea, tugging on his earlobe thoughtfully. “Aren’t those difficult and like, saved for upper years?”

“What?” Remus asks, looking up to send Sirius a bright smile with dark amber eyes. In the warm light of the dorm, they almost looked like they were shifting, changing to a dark brown color. “Are you scared we can’t do it?”

“Hardly,” Sirius says, grinning back at him. “I’m just excited to do it now, ‘s all.”

He cracks his knuckles for emphasis, and Remus laughs.

“So for potential modifiers,” Remus says, pulling out a page of parchment that had been stuffed into the back cover of the book, “I wrote down some that I think would be effective. First, we want to make sure that it affects all written things, not just one section that we cast it on. I think for that, we can just use ‘maxima,’ which is simple enough, even if it requires a lot of magic.”

James nods, and holds out his hand for the parchment. Remus hands it over, and James reads through it. “I’ve heard of the ‘progressus’ modifier as a way of slowing down spell growth,” he says, tapping it with a finger. “Between that and ‘graduale,’ I’d say progressus is a good idea. But we’d have to have a set time frame in mind when we cast it.”

“We could make a timetable,” Sirius suggests, and James gives him a weird look. Sirius shrugs a shoulder. “What? It sounds like we need to be precise. If we make a timetable and memorize it, then when we cast the spell it’ll be as effective as it can be.”

“You’ll do that but you don’t want to do your Potions Essay?” James asks incredulously.

“If it’s in favor of mischief,” Sirius says, “I’ll do anything.”

“Won’t we get in trouble?” Peter asks. Sirius glances over at him--he’s fiddling with a rook that’s squirming in his hands. He’s studiously avoiding eye contact as he says, “if it goes wrong we could be--we could face all sorts of problems.”

“But it  _ won’t _ go wrong,” Sirius says, at the same time that Remus says, “That’s just why we have to be careful about it.”

“That too,” Sirius says quickly.

“And besides,” Remus says, “It’s an invisible-cast spell, and we can do it at a range. It makes adding modifiers difficult, but I figure if we practice on ourselves before casting it on Snape, we can get the hang of it.”

Sirius and James nod along as he speaks, but Peter screws up his face.

“What’s invisible-cast?” he asks. “Is it like wordless magic? Because that’s upper-level stuff, and I don’t think…”

“No, it’s all right, Pete,” Remus says. “It’s part of the nature of the spell, instead of an additional feature that a wizard can add. Think ‘Alohomora,’ right? No bolts of light come out of your wand when you cast that, but offensive spells like stunning spells, they’re usually visible to the eye. So there’s visible-cast, and invisible-cast.”

“Oh,” Peter says, his face smoothing out. “I get it.”

“You thinking of taking McGonagall’s job, Remus?” James teases affectionately. “How much research did you do for this, anyway?”

Remus blushes, and sticks his nose further into the encyclopedia. “I just wanted to make sure that we did it right.”

“It’s brilliant,” Sirius says genuinely. “This is gonna be  _ fantastic. _ ”

And without warning, he launches himself at Remus, who yelps as he’s pushed back onto the bed. Sirius hugs him tightly, like James does to him.

Remus laughs gently, and says “Sirius, please get off’a me, oh my  _ god, _ ” like the polite little bugger he is, but also submits to a few more seconds of the tackle-hug before he pushes Sirius off.

“If that’s what it’s going to be like every time,” Remus says, “then I think I’ll have to stop hanging out with you all.”

But Sirius can tell, from his downcast eyes and how they flicker up towards Sirius a few times, that that isn’t true at all.

***

Two days later, Sirius is putting the final touches on the Illegibilus spell timetable when Andromeda approaches him.

They’re in the Great Hall for a late breakfast. James is reading a Quidditich magazine, Remus has already taken off to hang out with Evans for a study session, and Peter is still asleep in the Tower, Sirius is pretty sure.

Sirius has half a bowl of porridge in front of him, but he’s much more interested in correcting some of the times on the parchment in front of him. Last night, he’d decided that having the spell progress at random times, rather than at a specified time every day, would be better to keep the spell from being found out for a while (the counterspell for Illegibilus charms could be set as anything, but they’d collectively agreed that keeping it as a simple  _ Finite _ would be best--after all, the goal was to keep the spell from being found out, rather than keeping it long-lasting after it was revealed).

He’d just finished correcting it, and was about to transfer the timetable to a fresh, final piece of parchment, when Andromeda taps him on the shoulder.

Sirius turns around, and nearly shudders at the green and silver robes in front of him before he realizes that it’s Andromeda.

“I was wondering if you’d like to take a walk with me when you’re finished, there,” she says, nodding at Sirius’s parchment.

“Oh, it’s not--I don’t have to finish it right now,” Sirius says, not wanting to keep his seventh-year cousin waiting. He quickly stuffs the parchment into the black leather bag his parents had given him for carrying school supplies, and hoists it over his shoulders. “I’m actually good to go right now.”

Andromeda raises her eyebrows at his hastiness, and he’s pretty sure he hears James cough out a  _ “Kiss-up” _ from behind his back, but it doesn’t matter to him. Andy’s one of the few good relatives he has, aside from Reg and Uncle Alphard. He doesn’t want to keep her waiting, especially if she wants to spend time with him.

“In that case,” she says, smiling at him, “Shall we?”

“Yeah, let’s,” Sirius says, and follows her out the Great Hall and the huge, double front doors of the castle.

Andromeda picks a winding, cobblestoned path that leads around the side of the castle. Sirius is fairly certain that if they follow it all the way down, it’ll lead them to the Groundskeeper’s Cabin. It’s not a very popular path, especially on a Sunday morning that’s as dreary and misty as this one is.

But Sirius is fairly certain that that’s why she’s picked it.

Andromeda leads them a little ways down, walking slowly, her hands stuffed in her pockets. Then, abruptly, she says, “I’m really proud of you, Sirius. You need to know that, because I know the rest of our family isn’t, at the moment.”

Sirius blinks, and then looks at her. “What for?”

“The Sorting, of course,” she says, and then kicks a pebble by her foot. She sighs through her nose. “It’s not easy, going against people like the…like the Blacks.”

Sirius doesn’t miss how her lip curls when she says their surname. 

“It wasn’t on purpose,” he admits, shoving his hands in his own pockets. He can feel a couple loose sickles and knuts along the bottom, as well as a chocolate frog card that James had given him the other day. He clutches onto the card with his fingers, and says, “I didn’t even realize what was happening, until the Hat called out Gryffindor, you know.”

“The fact that you were sorted there means that you were open to the possibility, though,” Andromeda says, and walks a bit further down the path. Sirius follows obediently, and she continues, “That’s more than a lot of people could manage, at eleven, with the household you grew up in. It’s more than I could manage, I think.”

Sirius shrugs, even as he's hit with flashbulb memories of knuckles against his cheek, and a belt against his back. He doesn’t know if Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella are as...hard on her, as his parents are on him, but he knows well enough by now that their punishments did more to alienate him from his family, than to keep him in line. He’s pretty sure that his resentment towards his family, rather than any bravery, was what landed him in Gryffindor.

It's the only thing that made sense, in his mind.

“It’s not a big deal,” is what Sirius says out loud.

“It is,” Andromeda insists. Alongside the path were now some outcroppings of large rocks, nestled together and perfect for sitting on. Andromeda obviously thinks so, too, with how she nimbly jumps up onto the highest boulder and settles herself carefully on the lip of it. Sirius follows, picking a slightly smaller boulder, and turns to look up at her.

Her eyes are somewhat far away, distant. Like how his mum looks when she’s talking about blood purity, or how Remus looks when he’s got a really good book in his hands.

And that’s how he knows this conversation isn’t about him at all.

“Andy?” Sirius prods, carefully, and she shakes her head, clearing out the far-away look in her eyes.

“I…” She looks out across the grounds, and Sirius follows her gaze. From here, he can see the cobblestone path curving down to meet the spherical Groundskeeper’s Cabin. He can also see clear across the horizon, past the puffy tops of the trees in the Forbidden Forest. Not for the first time since coming to Hogwarts, Sirius feels an urge to run deep into the Forbidden Forest. After all, it's said that magical beings and creatures resided there, all of them having deeper connections to magic than common wizards--it seems unfair that Sirius can go to Hogwarts, but not enter the forest to meet those kinds of people and creatures.

Andromeda clears her throat, and then she says, “Do you remember Ted?”

“The Hufflepuff prefect you’d been snogging on the train,” Sirius supplies helpfully, and Andromeda snorts, but nods.

“We originally became friends after we partnered on an Herbology project, fourth year,” she says. “By that time, Slytherins had...started changing. The war didn’t begin officially til last year, you know, but all of a sudden Slytherins weren’t so focused on cunning and brilliance, it was starting to be more and more about blood purity. We get a bad rap, and before fourth year, I would’ve said it was undeserved. But I knew enough then to realize that the direction Slytherins were going was--is--a bad direction.”

“Mum and Dad have always been about blood purity, though,” Sirius says. “Ever since childhood. I always thought they believed in it so much that it got ridiculous.”

“I suppose Walburga and Orion were always ahead of the curve, then,” Andromeda says bitterly, and folds up her knees to her chest. “Anyway, Ted was nervous about working with me. We had randomized pairs, so he probably thought I was--going to hex him, or something. On account of the fact he’s a muggleborn.”

“Oh,” Sirius says, somewhat taken aback. He hadn’t known that, even when he knew that their family would disapprove of Ted just because he’s a Hufflepuff.

But a muggleborn...that put him in a whole different category of bad, for their family.

“I didn’t care about blood status,” Andromeda says quickly. “Still don’t, you know. No matter what other Slytherins have to say. And when Ted realized that, we started hanging out more. He was my first friend outside my house. We’d take walks. On this path, during fifth and sixth year. He started calling it ‘Andromeda’s Walk,’ because he thought it made it sound spooky. I told him he sounded stupid, but he’d just laugh at me, and I liked it.”

“So you started snogging him,” Sirius says.

“Well, I suppose that’s one way of putting it,” Andromeda says, and smiles again, a bit tiredly. “No one knows. From Slytherin at least. Some of Ted’s friends, do, and you, of course, but that’s really it.”

“Oh,” Sirius says again. Mostly for a lack of anything better to say. He’s a bit flattered that he’s trusted with such a big secret, even if she hadn’t really trusted him with it--more like he’d walked in on it, but still.

“And no one knows this next part,” Andromeda continues, “except for me and Ted. But I’d like to tell you, and god, you’re a first-year. So I won’t ask you to harbor any major secrets, if you don't want, but I just...I want to tell someone. I want someone to know, and to be from my family, and to be happy for me…”

She wipes a hand over her face, and Sirius knows that it’s to catch a stray tear or two. Sirius chews on his lip, but says anyway, “Of course I want to know. And I’ll be happy for you, and--and I won’t tell anyone. It’s not like Cissa talks to me, anyway, and all my friends are Gryffindors, so there’s no one to tell, at any rate.”

Andromeda presses her lips together, and then rubs at her temple. With her other hand, she reaches inside the neck of her shirt, and pulls out a silver chain.

A ring was strung onto it. Gold, with white diamonds dotted along the thin, braided band. A square emerald sat in the center of it. It was clearly, even to Sirius’s eleven-year-old eyes, an engagement ring.

Sirius sucks in a breath sharply, almost without meaning to. Andromeda runs her tongue along the top of her teeth, but nods. A silent affirmation.

“Your parents will kill you,” Sirius says, meaning every word of it. “A muggleborn Hufflepuff...I mean, I don’t think it gets much worse, for them.”

“It’s why they don’t know,” she says, and slips the chain back inside of her shirt. “No one does. Ted wasn’t even going to...I mean, we’re so young. I know all the Blacks get married right out of Hogwarts, but. His parents, they do it differently. A lot of Muggles do, apparently. Wait to get married, I mean.”

“So why did he…?”

“I got a letter,” Andromeda explains, and stares out across the horizon, so she didn’t have to look at Sirius. “From Mum and Dad. They, er. They said as soon as I finished my NEWTs, I would be betrothed to Rabastan Lestrange. Something to do with the war, or maybe they were… nervous, that there was no news I was interested in any Slytherin boy in my year. Or maybe…”

“When’d you get the letter?” Sirius asks, a dark, thick bundle of nerves beginning to knot in his stomach.

Andromeda keeps avoiding eye contact with Sirius. And that’s when he knows.

“After my Sorting,” Sirius says. “You got it after my Sorting.”

“Oh, Sirius, I didn’t mean to--” Andromeda cuts herself off, and then rearranges herself on the boulder, so that she’s looking down at him, now. “It’s not your fault, it isn’t. I didn’t bring you out here to make you feel bad, because I’m  _ happy. _ I’m happy I’ve got Ted, and I just wanted to let you know that. He wrote his parents, you know, got their permission and everything--the ring used to be his grandmother's, and they sent it over right away, even though they don't even understand owl post all that well. And I got special permission from Slughorn and Dumbledore to leave right after my NEWTs with Ted. We’re going to elope, and Ted’s got--he’s got plans, to make sure we’re undetectable by the Blacks.”

Sirius stares at her.

“You’ll get blasted off the tapestry,” he says, after a long pause. 

“I was always going to be,” Andromeda says simply. She pats her chest idly, and Sirius knows that she’s feeling the engagement ring, hidden and tucked away underneath her Slytherin robes. “It was just a matter of time before I realized that, though. That I came to accept it.”

She smiles at him, and there’s a hint of sadness there, dripping off the corners of her mouth like melting ice cream.

Sirius chews at his cheek, and rubs a palm across his forehead.

It's not right.

It's not right that Andy would have to do this. Not for him. Not  _ because  _ of him. 

It's really bloody wrong, as James would say.

But Andy doesn’t want to hear about that.

So Sirius says, “I’m really happy for you and Ted,” instead.

Her smile grows, both sad and happy at the same time. Sirius watches it bloom across her pretty, heart-shaped face, and he realizes what the word “bittersweet” means, for the first time ever.

"Thanks, Sirius," she says gently. "I really appreciate it. More than you know."

***

Although Sirius had tried to hide the guilt and the rage surrounding Andromeda’s situation, as soon as they head back up the path (Sirius mentally calls it ‘Andromeda’s Walk,’ and finds himself agreeing with Ted that it was a rather good name) and part ways at the castle, Sirius can’t help but feel it all come crashing over him again.

By the time he gets up to Gryffindor Tower, he’s positively steaming. His stomach is cramping from the tense, thick feeling of guilt. It’s like he’s swallowed a laxative potion, with how painful and uncomfortable it is. 

And all he can think about is how unfair it is, how wrong it is that Andromeda should suffer the consequences of something that Sirius couldn’t even control. She doesn’t deserve to have to run from their family, no matter how horrible their family was. It's sick. It's sick, and it's wrong, and every time he thinks those things, terrible things about the Blacks’ characters, there's also a building, phantom pain across his cheeks, like a fresh slap or a black eye.

He stomps his way up the dormitory stairs, slams the door, and one of the window panes actually cracks and shatters as he enters the room. Accidental magic.  That’s probably not a good sign.

James and Remus, who’d been reading over something together, look up from their positions across the dorm floor. Sirius shakes his head and throws his bag onto his bed, running a hand through his hair. A few of the books on Sirius’s bedside table hurl themselves across the room at the opposite wall, and a crystal ink pot explodes on Peter’s side of the room, splotching his bed covers with dark blue ink.

“Sorry,” Sirius mutters, and throws himself onto his bed, smothering his face with his pillow. He tries to breathe deep and even, like how he does after one of his mother’s yelling sessions or his father’s punishments, but he can hear his pulse racing in his ears.

It just _isn't bloody fair._

“Sirius?” James asks from behind him. Sirius grits his teeth, but rolls over onto his back.

“Yeah,” Sirius says flatly. 

In the corner, Remus raises his wand and casts  _ reparo, _ and the shards of glass start to affix themselves to the window frame again. 

“What’s wrong? Did something happen on your walk with Andromeda?” James asks, tentatively taking a seat on Sirius’s bed.

Sirius opens his mouth, completely ready to spill everything about Andromeda’s engagement, and his family, and how it was  _ all his fault-- _

And then he closes it again.

He’d promised her. He’d promised her he wouldn’t say anything, and as much as he likes James and Remus, they don’t know much about the Blacks. They wouldn’t understand the consequences of what Andromeda had done, what she's  _ planning  _ to do, and they might accidentally blab to someone about it.

And even if Sirius will more or less be the reason why Andromeda’s blasted off the tapestry, he also refuses to be the reason she’s put in any more danger.

“Sirius?” James prompts, frowning at him. Sirius hears Remus cast  _ scourgify  _ on Peter’s bedsheets, and sits up to watch as the ink splotches slowly dissipate into the air. A few of the darker stains stick around, but Sirius doubts that Peter will notice.

He feels a bit embarrassed for all the accidental magic, and says, “Sorry you had to clean that up, Remus.”

“You seemed to be in a right strop,” Remus says easily. “And you came out of it quick enough. I doubt I can fix the ink pot, though--that looks done for. D’you think someone has a dustpan and broom somewhere in this castle?”

“Somewhere, probably,” James says. “We can look for it later. But, listen, Sirius: what the  _ hell  _ happened? Was it Andromeda?”

Sirius bites down on his tongue until he decides on a half-truth that should be satisfactory enough. “Not Andromeda, but we were talking about family, and...well, apparently everyone’s been talking about me being a--a traitor, for getting Gryffindor instead of Slytherin. Guess it just set me off, knowing that everyone’s already written me off, ‘cept for Andy.”

James’s brow furrows sympathetically, but Remus says, “Don’t you hate your family, though?”

Sirius shrugs. It’s true enough, even if it rankles him a bit, hearing it just said, like that. He folds his legs up into a lotus position, and shoves his hands into his lap. He tries to calm himself against the hot blood and aching guilt still twisting up all his organs.

“They’re not great, but it still hurts,” Sirius says, and hates how honest that statement feels. “Andy’s said the Slytherins have gotten worse, since the war started. I reckon my family has, too. I dunno if they would’ve been this bad about a house sorting in years past.”

“The war’s not that bad yet,” James says. “And I bet it’ll stop soon. Dad says that Voldemort’s supporters are apparently really fringe at the moment. He thinks it’ll take a lot to get bigger families involved.”

“The Blacks are crazy enough to like what he says, though,” Sirius mutters, and then shrugs. “I dunno. At any rate, Andy’s right about the Slytherins being terrible this year. At least, I can see it with Snape--he’s a right git, that one.”

“Very true,” James says, nodding. “But hey, are you--?”

“Have you finished that spell timetable yet?” Remus cuts in smoothly. “And I think we should practice it once or twice more before we do it for real. Just because it’s usually cast on objects, not people, you know--I know we’ve done it successfully a few times, but I just want to be sure.”

James turns to glare at Remus, presumably for interrupting, but Sirius smiles, and actually gets to his feet. He knows what Remus is doing--shifting his focus, so he doesn’t have to think about his family, or talk any more about his feelings if he doesn’t want to. James, Sirius has found, is like a dog with a bone a lot of the time.

Sirius digs through his bag and pulls out the timetable parchment, staring at it for a moment. He lets himself imagine it all--the gradual increase of the spell, Snape’s inevitable freakout, how humiliated he’d feel when he realized what happened.

The heat of Sirius’s blood is still burning through his veins, and the painful guilt still eats at his stomach, but for the moment, he only lets himself focus on hurting Snape--on making him feel terrible, like the terrible Slytherin that he is.

And the heat coalesces under his skin, into a tight little ball right next to his heart. It rattles around in his ribcage, but now, he’s able to give it a name: Severus Snape.

It feels satisfying. It empties his blood out, and clears out his mind.

He hands over the parchment to James and Remus, and is able to put any other thoughts out of his brain, except for pranking Snape and making it  _ good. _


End file.
